


Five Times Tony Acts Like A Father

by lizwillstealyourgirl



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Additional Warnings in Author's Notes, Adoption, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Awesome Pepper Potts, Bisexual Peter Parker, Bittersweet, But also, Churches & Cathedrals, Coming Out, Dead May Parker (Spider-Man), Drinking to Cope, Driving, Eventual Happy Ending, Gay Ned Leeds, Peter says Fuck, Protective Tony Stark, SPOILER ALERT:, Teenage Drama, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Underage Drinking, Well - Freeform, Whump, it's still sad cuz may is still dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-01-06 13:40:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18389540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizwillstealyourgirl/pseuds/lizwillstealyourgirl
Summary: And one time Peter acts like a son.In which Peter, with the help of Tony, learns how to drive, survive, share, and - perhaps - how to love again. (Oh, also: he learns how to handle his liquor!)





	1. Every Sunday's Getting More Bleak

**Author's Note:**

> this is. sad. a lot of the time. and there are a lot of metaphors and sad stuff i guess. sorry :/
> 
> edit april 22nd 2019: i edited the entire fic so that i only have tony call him "peter" in more serious moments and "pete"/other various nicknames the rest of the time. i also added um one sentence in chapter 3. literally u dont need 2 read it again just wanted u all 2 know <3
> 
> edit may 3rd 2019: hi again!!! if you’re still here waiting for the final chapter...i apologize for sucking. BUT the update will come very very soon. i wrote basically the whole chapter but now i just have to edit it! sorry to u all for the wait :(

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In thinking of church, thinking of God and mass and religion and all that comes with it, Peter is not only hit with the reminder of his own loss; he is also struck in the face with the echoes of sitting in between Ben and May in the pew, kneeling next to them, Ben’s hands on Peter’s shoulders, his own arms crossed over his chest as he walks up to Father John during Communion to receive a blessing. Those things, those memories, which have since faded and are now tinted grey, don’t taste so much like dirt and emptiness and death, but more so like love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for this chapter: church? peter goes to church. also peter is Fucked Up mentally
> 
> song: take me to church (hozier)

**I. (Every Sunday’s Getting More Bleak)**

 

* * *

 

 

“Pete,” Tony’s voice cuts through his ears, rings angrily like an alarm, rips him out of his haze and drags him across the rocky shoreline of tangibility.

 

“Huh?” he responds, just barely over a whisper.

 

“Breathe, buddy,” Tony instructs, his hands moving to rest on Peter’s shoulders comfortingly. “It’s okay, it’s all okay.” He pulls Peter in flush against his chest, and Peter hums, because it’s _not_ okay, it never will be again, but Tony’s heartbeat is so steady and whole, Peter can’t help but melt against him.

 

“She’s gone,” he whispers, like he’s only realizing as much just now. “I wish I saved her,” he says, as if it were his dirty secret, as if he were _guilty_ about feeling guilty.

 

“Knock it off with that,” Tony shushes him. “You weren’t there, Peter.”

 

“It’s my fault, isn’t it?” he asks, and Tony shakes his head furiously, squeezes his arms around Peter tighter and pulls him in closer.

 

“How could it be,” Tony asks, “if you weren’t even _there_?”

 

“Because I wasn’t _there_ ,” Peter insists, and he knows it doesn’t make any sense, but as well as he knows his name is Peter Benjamin Parker, he knows Tony, of all people, _understands_.

 

“It isn’t your fault,” Tony promises, “it isn’t,” and Peter lets the lie seep into his blood, and, in a moment of weakness, he lets himself believe it.

 

* * *

 

May is gone.

 

When Peter was young, _really_ young, only 5 or 6 years old young, his parents die. The next 10 years were spent under May’s care. 8 of them included Ben. But when Peter is less young, when he’s exponentially closer to being an adult, when he can drive under the supervision of an adult over the age of 25 and he’s started to choose colleges, May dies too.

 

 _She’ll never see me graduate,_ he realizes, and when the thought bores holes into his temples, he wishes he could rip his eyes out to glare at his own head. _She’ll never know which college I went to, or who I married, or what my kids looked like._ He realizes, too, that his mother would be oblivious in the same way, but that doesn’t burn as angrily inside his chest as he wish it did. He tries not to feel guilty.

 

It was a car crash.

 

First, his parents died in a plane crash. Ben died in a burglary gone wrong. May died in a car crash. Peter can’t help but wonder if God has it out for him; if this is revenge for all the times he said _Jesus fuck_ and didn’t say _sorry_ afterwards. He wonders if he prayed enough; May was Catholic, and they went to church every Sunday, prayed before breakfast and dinner, even packed a rosary in his lunch every day for school. Ben told him once that his mom, Mary, was Jewish, and she prayed too. There’s a moment, after May dies, when Peter wonders if God isn’t real, if Mary and May and Richard and Ben had just been wrong all along, if there’d been no one looking out for them at all. He strikes that thought down as soon as it comes to mind; if God _isn’t_ real, then he’d have no one left to watch his back - without his parents and his aunt and uncle, who else is there?

 

There’s Tony, of course, yet Peter can’t help but feel like a burden whenever he looks over at Tony’s face, which had grown tired and old in the month following May’s death.

 

Sometimes, Peter zones out, drifts off into the warm arms of the freezing galaxy, and Tony is the only person in the world who can pull him back down. “Peter,” Tony always says, and Peter always jolts awake, his eyes focusing in on Tony’s face as he nods his acknowledgement. “Stay,” Tony will beg, and so Peter does.

 

* * *

 

The first time Peter even _thinks_ about going back to church, it’s long after May dies, and almost two months had passed. He feels guilty, of course he does, because something stupid inside of him still screams that it was a least a _little bit_ his fault. Despite all of the protests to that, he can’t help but blame himself; _maybe,_ he often thinks, m _aybe I lied too much,_ and it rattles off into his head while Peter does his best to quell his nerves. Church is scary, scarier than the funeral or the apartment or the school or the tower, because church is where Peter and May spent every Sunday for 10 years; right up until the day before May died.

 

He’s sure of what Father John will say, too. _You should’ve prayed when you were in need_ , he’ll say, and Peter doesn’t disagree so much - even if he doesn’t know how much he trusts the prayer.

 

But when Peter decides to go back to church, the first person he tells isn’t God or Ned or May: it’s Tony.

 

“Pete,” Tony calls out in the moments before, dragging Peter out of his endless spiral. “You alright?”

 

Peter manages to nod, and his response comes out like a croak. “Yeah,” he says, his words all tired and weak, his words all empty and weak, “I have to ask you something.” Tony shuffles in his spot nervously, and Peter hates the cold feeling of _I did that, I made him scared_ that strikes him across the face. He gestures for Peter to continue anyway. “I, uh, was thinking about going back. To church. To, like, talk to May? Sort of.”

 

Tony smiles, but it’s all sad and bittersweet and Peter thinks, absently, it tastes sort of like lemons in the back of his throat. “Okay,” Tony says, “do you want me to take you?”

 

Peter hesitates. _Do I?_ He thinks, _if Tony takes me, am I betraying Ben in some backwards way?_ He wonders, for a moment, if God’s plan is to let Peter fall in love with another family, just to take it away again; if He did it to Ben and May and Mary and Richard, would He do it to Tony and Pepper too? And if He did, would Peter survive it?

 

But, then again, maybe God doesn’t actually give a fuck. Or, better yet, maybe He _does_ , and this is what He think Peter deserves. Peter has no clue which answer is right, but there’s a hollowness inside of his bones that seems to fill and fade away when Tony ducks into Peter’s room late at night and talks to him in a hushed voice, promises him that everyone is safe, lets Peter fester in his own lies about his okayness; that vast, empty space in Peter’s body cavity doesn’t seem so vast or empty when Tony is there, an anchor, keeping him low to the ground. He thinks, just maybe, God brought him Tony to stop him from floating away.

 

So Peter answers, “Yes, please,” and Tony’s smile is still shattered and sullen, but Peter thinks, absentmindedly, he can see a glow in Tony’s teeth, and a sad sort of shimmer in his eye.

 

Three days later, it’s Saturday night, and Peter doesn’t sleep. Each time he closes his eyes, he lets himself drift away into the darkness, if only for a moment, before his heart sinks down to his gut and he’s _falling, falling, falling_ and he jolts awake, sits up straight to catch his breath. Each time, FRIDAY asks him if he’d like to inform Tony and Pepper. Each time, he says no. As the night grows later and quieter, Peter decides that he’d rather just do homework than lie to himself any longer. It’s around 1:00 AM when Peter lugs himself out of bed and slumps over his desk, turns on his laptop, and begins the AP U.S. History essay that isn’t due for another two weeks.

 

After he finishes it, he reads the book he was meant to start reading almost a month ago for AP Literature: Invisible Man. He finishes that too.

 

At 7:00 AM, Peter stumbles back into his bed, so that when Tony knocks on his door and asks how Peter slept, his lie is a little bit more believable; so that Peter can say, _good_ , and even if Tony knows it isn’t true, he won’t try to correct it.

 

Peter showers at this time, walks to the bathroom dead on his feet, eyes fully shut as he strips down and twists the shower on. He crawls in, slouches against the wall, and lets the water wake him. He ignores Tony, at 7:30, when he knocks and calls for Peter to come eat. His eyes are still closed and he’s still only halfway conscious when Tony overrides FRIDAY and lets himself into the bathroom at 7:45. He pulls Peter out of the shower - Peter, who is semi present, semi awake, semi alive - and wraps him in a fluffy towel. By the time Tony gets him, his skin is blistering and red. He didn’t notice how hot the shower was; he wonders, for a moment, if he _ever_ would have, or if he would have slid to the tile instead and slept there forever, until he was starving and dehydrated and torpid.

 

“Pete,” Tony mumbles, and Peter allows himself to crack open his eyes and steal a glance at Tony, whose eyes swirl with pity and warmth. “Do you still want to go to church today?” he asks.

 

Peter doesn’t know. If May were still around, Peter never would’ve been given the option; if he were, he’d have probably said no, begged to sleep in another few hours and go to a nighttime mass instead. If May were still around, if she weren’t dead, buried six feet under, Peter wouldn’t have felt so guilty and fucked up and sinful and _wrong_. If May were alive, Peter would’ve already been downstairs, making breakfast for her, and if Ben were alive too, they’d do it together; bring her apple juice and eggs and pancakes in the hours before they had to leave for church, so they could all sit in May and Ben’s bed and watch the Sunday cartoons.

 

Memories of Ben tasted a lot like gasoline and gunpowder for a long time after he died, but Peter began to revel in the taste, and find it in himself to remember the berries and chocolate too. Now, here, without May and with the burning sensation of missing her desperately, Peter tastes the gasoline again, even more vibrant than it had been with Ben. But thinking of church, thinking of God and mass and religion and all that comes with it, Peter is not _only_ hit with the reminder of his own loss; he is also struck in the face with the echoes of sitting in between Ben and May in the pew, kneeling next to them, Ben’s hands on Peter’s shoulders, his own arms crossed over his chest as he walks up to Father John during Communion to receive a blessing. _Those_ things, _those_ memories, which have since faded and are now tinted grey, don’t taste so much like dirt and emptiness and death, but more so like love.

 

“Yeah,” he realizes, “I have to.” He knows Tony bites back his response, _you don’t_ have _to do anything,_ he’s sure it would be, but Tony only nods and leads Peter into the bedroom.

 

“Get dressed, buddy,” Tony instructs, voice just barely over a whisper. “Want me to leave?”

 

Peter shakes his head. “Just turn around?” he asks, and Tony agrees, turns to face the bathroom door and sits at the edge of Peter’s bed. Peter drags himself to his closet, which rests between his bed and the door leading down the hall, and weakly pulls on a pair of briefs, tugs his dress pants over, and begins to search for a top to wear. “Can you help me find a shirt?” He asks, only a little embarrassed, and Tony nods and moves to stand beside him.

 

“This shirt looks nice on you,” Tony pulls out a blue button up, that’s just a little bit wrinkled.

 

“May liked that one too,” he responds, hushed and sad. Tony smiles in the same way.

 

He shrugs. “It’s a good shirt,” he explains, and Peter hums his agreement, slugs it over his shoulders and buttons it up with quivering fingers. “Tie?” Tony asks, gesturing his head towards his own room, since Peter doesn’t actually _own_ any ties - he just steals Tony’s.

 

(After Ben died, he threw away one of his two ties - the one Ben got for him. After May died, he got rid of that one too.)

 

Before they leave his room, Peter puts on his socks and grabs a pair of nice shoes. As Tony walks out, Peter looks over his shoulder, stares at his phone plugged into the wall beside his bed. He sighs and leaves it there.

 

Tony helps him with his tie - just like how May did, just like how Ben did, just like how Mary and Richard did, all those years ago. Peter tries to ignore the lemons in his throat, and he prays, quietly, silently, that he won’t lose Tony in the way he seems to lose everyone he loves. Tony either doesn’t notice Peter’s heart thumping furiously in his chest, or he pretends not to. Peter’s thankful either way.

 

Pepper goes with them; she lets Tony drive. Peter sits in the backseat, twisted up a little bit like a pretzel, with his knees pulled up to his chest and his head against the window. When Tony arrives at the church parking lot, pulls into a spot separate and far away from the other families, Peter has to swallow down bile. Peter gets out of the car and notices that it’s not Tony’s favorite, the bright orange Audi, but something much quieter and exponentially more normal; Peter can’t decide if he’s thankful for the regularity, or ashamed that Tony felt it necessary.

 

When the three of them walk in together, Peter is lodged between Pepper and Tony, pressed up against them shoulder to shoulder. They let Peter led them to a spot, a fourth row pew, where Peter can remember sitting with Ben and May once; it’s next Peter’s favorite stained glass window. “They got a new Jesus guy,” Peter points at the hanging statue, “I’m pretty sure, at least. I thought he was bigger.”

 

“He’s pretty big now, too, Pete,” Pepper smiles, and Peter shrugs casually, but his lips quirk up.

 

Peter can barely hear a word Father John says; instead, he focuses on the steady rhythm of Tony and Pepper’s heartbeats. He breathes as parallel with them as he can, does his best to mimic Tony’s sharp inhales and Pepper’s lasting exhales. It’s only a few minutes into mass before Pepper puts her hand, frail and small, on Peter’s knee; soon after, Tony does the same, though his hand is much heavier, and Peter can almost feel the callouses through the fabric of his slacks. Peter is only half awake when he leads Pepper and Tony down the aisle and encourages them to cross their arms over their chest; neither of them were raised Catholic. On the way back to their seat, Peter trips over his own feet, but Tony catches him before he even realizes he’s falling. While Peter kneels when they return, neither Pepper nor Tony does the same. His mind is blank, but he sits there anyway, counts to 7 and back down to 1, over and over, until he’s satisfied; until he thinks God understand what he meant.

 

After mass ends, the three of them walk out together, Pepper holding Peter’s hand, and Tony gripping onto Peter’s shoulder. They’re all quiet, and the air around them - thick and cold - is scattered by Father John’s voice, calling out Peter’s name.

 

“Peter,” he says, and Peter turns to look at him. “Peter, you’ve grown. How have you been?”

 

“Father,” Peter responds, the smile he provides all grim and feeble. “I’m, uh, I’m doing okay. Better. Every day is a new day, right?”

 

Father John hums. “Right,” he agrees. “Father Cesar and I have been praying for you, son. Have you visited her?”

 

“Yeah,” he lies, “maybe not often enough though,” he adds, like maybe a fraction of the truth will make it better.

 

Father John raises a brow - Peter isn’t the best liar - but he doesn’t comment further. “Good,” he says instead. “And these are the famous guardians?” He gestures to Tony and Pepper. “It’s wonderful to meet you both, Ms. Potts, Mr. Stark.”

 

“Oh, just Pepper is fine,” Pepper corrects, “and it’s great to meet you too, Father.”

 

Peter fades away while Pepper and Father John talk for a moment, get to know each other a little; he lets himself vanish, drift off into space and forget his name and age. He recognizes, absently, the foreign stone instead of him, which craves to explore the vastness of space. He wonders if he were to turn to dust and blow away with the wind, would he find May and Ben out, amongst the atoms of decaying stars? Tony tugs on his shoulder, brings him back before he disappears, and the air isn’t so thick or cold, if only for a moment.

 

“Stay,” Tony whispers to him, and only Peter thinks he’s the only person in the world who could possible understand the sensation of floating away while weighing a million tons.


	2. In My Mind I'm Still On The 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By the time they make it to their first stop, a dingy old gas station just over half an hour past the Stewart International Airport, Peter and MJ are no longer arguing dramatically, and have resorted to playing Game Pigeon Crazy 8’s , along with Ned, on their phones. It’s at this time that Tony realizes he’s bored as hell . Being with his best friend, his fiance, his kid, and all of his kid’s friends, at first sounded overwhelming, but now, in the moment, he’s almost disappointed; he sort of wishes that it’d been as chaotic as he’d imagined it to be. Part of the chaos, of course, was Peter’s driving, and - that’s it, Tony realizes, and in the 7/11, underneath the fluorescent lights of an ICEE machine, he turns to grin at Peter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for this chapter: none tbh wow! he's a 16 year old driving which is traumatizing for anyone. tony is mean bc the Youth's music is weird. but he's not actually mean dw.
> 
> song: on the 5 (winnetka bowling league)

**II. (In My Mind I’m Still On The 5)**

 

* * *

 

 

Peter is actually not a _bad_ driver - but he isn’t a _good_ driver either.

 

He feels pretty much obligated to go about 10 over the speed limit at any given time, he doesn’t believe in stop signs - Tony says it’s a _California Stop_ \- and he’s never afraid to lean on his horn for extended periods of time. May died just after Peter received his driver’s permit, so she actually only drove with him a handful of times; for each time, she’d laugh at his road rage and push her hand on his forehead playfully - Tony is not as lax about it.

 

When Peter starts driving with Tony, he’s on his best behavior; he refrains from speeding much at all, and he doesn’t swear at or flip off another driver _once_. That is, until May’d been gone for close to four months, and Peter really only had a month left before getting his license.

 

They’re on a back road, upstate, and Tony let Peter control the radio. Peter’s phone is plugged in, playing his favorite playlist, while Tony complains about every other song.

 

“What the hell is this? _Spiderhead_? You listen to some weird shit, Pete,” Tony says, when Cage The Elephant starts playing.

 

He complains again, during Ariana Grande, “I can’t believe you’re singing along to a song called _break up with your girlfriend, i’m bored_. That’s too many words for a single title.”

 

Peter loses it during _Devil Town_ by Cavetown, when Tony jokes, “A lot of your music mentions spiders. I know you’re Spider-Man and all, but I thought you had arachnophobia too.”

 

He huffs and rolls his eyes. “Tony, I will crash this fancy ass car if you keep shitting on my music taste.”

 

“Oh?” Tony laughs, because pasty Peter Parker isn’t exactly _intimidating_ . “Gosh golly, you should watch your language. May I suggest _crapping_ to replace _shitting_?”

 

“You may not,” Peter retorts, “but way to shoot your shot.” Tony laughs again, and Peter doesn’t, but he _does_ crack a grin, and there’s a weight lifted off of his shoulders.

 

“You wanna get on a road with other cars? I think you’re doing great.” Peter pauses for a moment before agreeing and silently making his way back to the main road.

 

It’s less than a minute before Peter forgets Tony _isn’t_ May, that he’s only obligated to take care of him, that he’s not really Tony’s kid, and he slams the palm of his hand on the horn.

 

“Jesus _fuck_!” he exclaims, and Tony jolts in surprise.

 

“Dude,” Tony scolds, “ _language_.”

 

“Flibbity jibbit,” Peter snarks, and Tony bites down his laugh.

 

He reaches over to flick Peter’s elbow. “You’re a _mean_ driver,” he points out, “with all your _honking_ and _yelling_.”

 

Peter shrugs. “Yeah, well, they’re _dumbass_ drivers.”

 

“And your  _swearing_ _!”_ Tony squawks, like Peter isn’t 16 years old, like Tony doesn’t huff and puff in NC-17, like Captain America himself hadn't, once, scolded him for it constantly.

 

“Whatever,” Peter says, only whining a little. “At least I don’t drive _12 under the speed limit!”_ He accents his frustration by slamming on the horn once again, though this time, it’s a different car he’s upset with. Peter moves into the left lane and speeds past the other driver, who flips Peter off - Peter doesn’t hesitate to return the favor.

 

“Oh, you’re _angry_ too! Cool off, dude, it’s unsafe.” Tony instructs, and he’s laughing a little bit less, but there’s still no real heat beneath his words. Peter listens - at least, for a while. As they, slowly but surely, make their way back to the tower, Peter holds back his bitching and nagging, which Tony vibrantly thanks him for.

 

“We should do a road trip,” Peter says as soon as the thought draws itself in his mind, seeing as he had absolutely no filter. “May and I were always talking about it,” he says, maybe trying to guilt trip Tony a _teensy_ bit, “but we never got around to it.”

 

“Who’s we?” Tony asks, seriously considering it, because Peter’s pulling at his heart strings, what with his big, brown doe eyes and the way his lip folds over into a childish pout. “You, me…?”

 

“Pepper, obviously,” Peter chortles, “and Rhodey, too, right? Happy might be too mean, but if he’s in a good mood, you know, it could be fun.”

 

“You could bring your nerd friends,” Tony offers. “Ned and MJ?”

 

Peter’s eyes light up and his pout lifts. “For real?”

 

Tony laughs, all light and airy and loving. “Yeah, if you want. A family road trip - sounds fun.”

 

“ _Dope_ ,” is all that Peter says, because all the words feel sticky and oversized in his throat. He nods and directs his focus back to the road. After another moment of silence, he adds, “I, uh, really appreciate you doing this. Teaching me to drive and stuff.”

 

Tony shrugs. “May did all the heavy lifting.” Peter hums in agreement.

 

“Sure, b-but you’re doing the lifting _now_ , right? And, honestly, Tony, it’s not that I mind it, because I _don’t_ , I actually like it, like living with you and all that. But, um, why?”

 

“Why am I doing it?” Tony asks, scandalized by what Peter _could be_ implying. “You mean, why did I adopt you after May died? Or why did I take the job seriously?”

 

“Both. Either. Neither.” Peter shrugs, shakes his head all confused, blinks his eyes to get rid of the tears. “I guess I just don’t get why you, like, care about me? That sounds bad, huh?”

 

“It kind of does,” Tony responds, “but I guess I get it. Feeling that way.” He sighs, a frown filling his features, furrowing his brow. “You’re my kid, Pete. Get that through your thick, walnut head. I care about you, now and forever, alright?”

 

Peter, all of a sudden, feels like his vocal chords have been ripped out of his throat. He croaks out a silent _okay_ , and hopes Tony can hear him.

 

“And I like driving with you,” Tony adds, and Peter’s pretty sure it’s a lie. “Even if you’re mean and angry and I’m honestly a little bit worried you’ll hit the car in front of you just to prove a point.”

 

“Maybe I will,” Peter says, and Tony huffs out a laugh.

 

The rest of the drive is quiet, but not uncomfortably so; Peter’s playlist reigns on, flickering between weird, underground indie music and the Top Hits’ crap. Tony doesn’t complain about it any longer, and after a while, Peter sort of wishes he would.

 

* * *

 

“A road trip? With Tony Stark and Pepper Potts? Are you shitting me?” Ned’s voice is high pitched, maybe an octave higher than usual, and Peter can’t tell if it’s due to excitement or nerves.

 

“And Colonel James Rhodes,” Peter adds, but maybe that’s not so helpful.

 

“ _Dude_ ,” MJ hisses at him, because, _yeah_ , it wasn’t so helpful.

 

Ned sighs dreamily and fawns over it all for a moment. “Your life is so crazy.” Peter just nods in agreement.

 

They’re in Mr. Harrington’s room, only 5 minutes before Academic Decathlon practice starts. MJ is almost silent, choosing to butt in when she find it necessary, but mostly just preparing for their practice. Ned and Peter sit on her left side, shoulder to shoulder, as they speak in hushed voices about the road trip Peter had been advocating for. Ned thinks it’s hilarious and sad and awesome all at once, that Tony Stark, Peter’s adopted father, wanted to take _Ned and MJ_ on a family road trip.

 

“And he called it that? A _family_ road trip?” Ned asks, like Peter would’ve lied about that.

 

“Yes, Ned, I swear. He said _sounds fun - a family road trip_. And, I mean, it does. Right?”

 

Ned nods, but as he goes to respond, MJ beats him to it. “It’s your childhood heroes. Of course it’ll be fun.” Ned nods much more passionately now, pointing his finger at MJ to exaggerate his agreement.

 

“You think he’ll let you drive?” Ned asks, as the rest of the Decathlon team begins shuffling in the science classroom. Peter laughs - not really _bitter_ , perhaps more _sarcastic_ \- and shakes his head.

 

“No way, dude. He said I’m scary,” Peter explains. Ned hums like he understands.

 

MJ rolls her eyes. “ _You_ aren’t, but your driving is.” Before Peter can defend his driving, MJ stands to call the meeting to action. While she’s taking role, she catches Peter’s eye and winks a little. Peter and Ned both look down to hide their blushes.

 

* * *

 

“So, we’re really taking a road trip?” Rhodey’s question rumbles a little in Peter’s ears, and he says it so disbelievingly, Peter wonders if it’s true, too.

 

“Uh, I mean, I sure thought so?” he says, but it’s less of a statement and more of a question.

 

Tony laughs breathily, and slaps his head paternally on Peter’s shoulder. “I was hoping you’d want to,” he tells him, “seeing as it was _your_ idea, and all.”

 

Peter grins. “Tony, you don’t even get how absolutely _dope_ this is. MJ and Ned are so freaking stoked. Well, Ned is. I still can’t _really_ tell if MJ’s ever excited about anything.”

 

“Spring break, buddy,” Tony’s smile is blinding, so Peter blinks and looks away, but not before Tony’s bumps their shoulders together. “Start the countdown.”

 

* * *

 

When the day comes, Peter’s already been packed for a week. They’re not doing the road trip May had wanted to do - the five day trip from Queens to Miami, stopping all along the coast - because Peter sort of felt like that was betraying her. Instead, they decide to drive up to Lake Placid, and it’s not so much of a road trip, but it’s a six hour drive and Peter thinks: _good enough_.

 

There’s 6 of them - Happy opted out, as expected - so Tony takes one of the big, fancy Audi’s he has that fits 7 people. Rhodey drives, and Pepper gets dibs on the passenger seat; Ned and MJ offer to sit in the far back, and Peter curls up next to Tony in the middle row. Ned and MJ are watching something on Ned’s phone, and Peter can hear it just a little bit through the earbuds. Pepper is playing all the music up front, but only songs she and Rhodey can sing along to, and Peter films all of it for blackmail. About an hour in, MJ and Peter begin animatedly debating the validity of pineapple on pizza, and Ned records _that_ , and posts it on both her Instagram _and_ her Snapchat stories.

 

“Peter, you’re _disgusting_ . Pineapple on pizza is _disgusting_. I can’t be your friend anymore.”

 

Peter groans and smacks the back of his head against the chair. “God, MJ, chill. I just don’t get why you hate it so much. Please, provide logic and reasoning, not the whole whining thing.”

 

MJ huffs. “Why would you put _fruit_ on a pizza? A _tropical fruit_?”

 

“You realize that tomatoes are a fruit, too? Do you?” Peter’s glaring now, and Tony is laughing at him, pushing at his shoulders to force him into sitting back.

 

“Settle down, Pete,” Tony scolds teasingly. “Don’t kill MJ before we even make it to the first bathroom break.”

 

“You might have to call the police right here, _right now_ , Stark, because I’m fully prepared to murder Spider-Man on this fine Tuesday morning,” MJ says, glaring back and Peter, but his lips quirk as he tries to hide his smile.

 

“Ned, whose side are you on?” Peter asks, breaking the stare he’d been holding with MJ.

 

“Team Pineapple all the way,” he frowns, “but I don’t want MJ to be mad at me, so I’ll never eat it in front of her.”

 

And then MJ says, “I hope you choke on your pineapple pizza,” and Peter barks out a laugh, which is louder and freer than it’d been in months. Tony takes silent notice, and he thinks Ned and MJ do too; as subtle as possible, he tries to memorize the way Peter’s features scrunch and stretch, where his nose wrinkles and his eyes widen and his cheeks dimple, how his lashes flutter and his eyebrows lift, and the speed his head whips around at to look at Ned and MJ. Ned _almost_ blushes under Peter’s heavy stare, which is full of warmth and weightlessness, and Peter’s laugh softens to a boisterous smile. Tony watches the interaction with a quirked brow.

 

By the time they make it to their first stop, a dingy old gas station just over half an hour past the Stewart International Airport, Peter and MJ are no longer arguing dramatically, and have resorted to playing Game Pigeon _Crazy 8’s_ , along with Ned, on their phones. It’s at this time that Tony realizes he’s _bored as hell_ . Being with his best friend, his fiance, his kid, and all of his kid’s friends, at first sounded overwhelming, but now, in the moment, he’s almost disappointed; he sort of wishes that it’d been as chaotic as he’d imagined it to be. Part of the chaos, of course, was Peter’s driving, and - _that’s it,_ Tony realizes, and in the 7/11, underneath the fluorescent lights of an ICEE machine, he turns to grin at Peter.

 

“What?” Peter murmurs over a mouthful of trail mix, his face contorted in suspicion.

 

“Wanna drive?” Tony smirks, and Peter flashes through an abundance of emotion. At first, he’s startled, and he leans back, almost losing his footing, as his jaw drops just slightly. Then, his brow furrows and he appears confused, before finally, a smile allots on his face.

 

“Seriously?” he asks, like he thinks Tony is just lying for shits and giggles.

 

“I mean, I have to ask Pep and Rhodey, but it _is_ my car and I _did_ plan this trip, so I’m thinking I win.” Peter hesitates for a moment, but that blinding smile spreads wider over his face and his eyes crinkle at the corners. He nods, and Tony cheers. “Your friends are going to be so scared,” he reminds Peter, who only shrugs, because _obviously_ they will be.

 

“Tony, Pete, let’s get back on the road,” Pepper calls from the doorway, and Tony turns to wink at Peter. Peter bites his lip to mute his grin.

 

“Love of my life,” Tony says to Pepper as he passes, “Honeybear,” he adds, this time directed at Rhodey.

 

“What do you want?” Rhodey deadpans.

 

Tony scoffs. “Why would I _want_ something? What are you trying to accuse me of?” His love of drama is shot down instantaneously, due to the monotonous faces in front of him. As Ned and MJ move to stand behind Peter, Tony rolls his eyes and continues. “Can Pete drive?”

 

Pepper raises a brow in surprise. “You want _Peter_ to drive?”

 

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?” Peter quips defensively.

 

“You’re just a very aggressive driver, honey,” Pepper says all sugary and kind, “and Tony has heart problems. I think you scare him a little.”

 

“Just because I have heart problems doesn’t mean I’d like to be _bored_ ,” Tony moans, all theatrical and extra. “Come on, live a little, let the Spider-Kid take the wheel.” As he talks to Pepper, he moves to grab at Peter’s face, and squishes his cheeks just enough for Peter to get the message; immediately, Peter pouts and flutters his lashes.

 

“You can’t use the Parker Puppy Dog Eyes!” Rhodey gasps. “That’s _gotta_ be against the rules.”

 

Tony sticks out his tongue at Rhodey, and jokes, “All’s fair in love and war.”

 

“Fine,” Pepper groans, despite the cheering and exclamations from everyone around here - besides Rhodey, that is. She sticks her hand out with the keys and says, “Peter can drive, _but_ -” she pulls her arm away to stare Peter down- “you _have_ to be responsible. Tony is secretly 4 years old, so he will not be much help. If you get scared or overwhelmed, just ask me for help, okay, hun?”

 

Peter nods, some silly sort of adoration and love swirling up in his eyes. “Okay!” he cheers.

 

Much to the amusement of MJ and Ned - who are still in the back, though now passionately filming, in hopes Peter might crash Tony’s car - Peter and Tony bicker relentlessly for the first 20 minutes of his driving. Whenever Peter speeds, Tony butts in to scold him; when Peter groans or curses under his breath at a passing car, Tony hushes him; if Peter doesn’t stop for long enough at the signs, or hold a _safe distance_ between Tony’s car and the cars ahead of him, Tony threatens to revoke his driving privileges. Peter takes all of Tony’s overprotectiveness like a champ - it’s likely that he’s used to it by now - and even talks back to Tony if he’s got a funny enough retort.

 

“God, kid,” Tony says at one point, “do you realize you’re going 15 over? You’re gonna get pulled over, and I won’t be helping your sorry ass out.”

 

Peter shrugs. “I have _spider_ sense, Tony, not _common_ sense.” Tony huffs out a laugh and rubs his knuckle into Peter’s thigh, and Peter snorts and flicks his hand off.

 

“That’s called _penising_ ,” MJ adds, clearly not helpfully.

 

Ned gasps and smacks her. “ _Shut up_ ,” he hisses, a little scandalized. She shrugs, smirking.

 

“ _Why_?” Tony whines. “Why is it called that? Why did you have to tell me about it? Why is your generation so fucked up and weird?”

 

“After all the shit your generation did to the planet, I can only assume it’s a side effect,” MJ says back, her tone level and empty, and Peter remembers then why he likes to be around her so much.

 

The senseless chatter continues on behind Peter, but he directs his glance fully to the road ahead of him. He allows himself to float into the fixation of it, concentrates completely on driving and being smart and being safe. He tries hard not to think about May, who laughed when he messed up and encouraged him to laugh too; who let him drive like a maniac on some anger pill; who supported him unconditionally and loved him with a fiery passion Peter has yet to see replicated in another human being; who died in a car crash; who was driving home far too long after midnight and was hit by a truck running a red light while passing through an intersection; who deserves to be here, sitting beside him. He’s desperate to ignore the thoughts of _her_ fluttering around the vacant space in his brain, and for a moment, when Tony laughs at something Pepper says, he lets himself pretend May is sitting next to Pepper, maybe drinking white wine like the two of them used to do, and laughing too.

 

“Pete,” Tony’s voice is echoey and wide as it knocks itself into Peter’s mind. “Are you doing alright?” He asks, as if he doesn’t expect Peter to lie.

 

“Yeah,” Peter lies, and he knows Tony hears it in his voice, which is crackly and weak, “I’m fine.” But Tony doesn’t comment, doesn’t bother or maybe doesn’t have the time to, because it’s only a moment later that Peter shouts, _"FUCK!"_ and slams on his brakes.

 

In an instant, Tony’s arm comes out in front of Peter’s chest protectively, like he’s trying to stop the ricochetting of Peter’s body which he expects to come. Pepper ducks, and Rhodey hovers over her, while Ned and MJ cower in the back, as they all brace for the impact that never arrives.

 

For a full minute, there is nothingness. Ned is the one who breaks the silence. “Uh, I’m in the back,” he says, “so can someone please explain what the hell happened?”

 

“I - uh, I don’t know,” Tony says, shaking his head. “Peter, what happened?”

 

Peter musters the courage to point at the two cars slammed into each other, which was over a quarter of a mile away from the 6 of them. “Spidey sense,” he mumbles, like that explains everything; in some ways, it does.

 

Ned hums. “I gotcha,” he says, and stuffs one of his headphones back in, returning to his video. Pepper and Rhodey attempt to relax, though Peter can see the worry clouding Pepper’s vision. MJ leans into Ned’s side and plucks the other earbud piece out of his fingers. Peter inhales deeply, repeating over and over, _they’re safe, they’re safe_ , like a mantra in his head. In his peripheral vision, he can see Tony turning to stare at him. They don’t say anything for a moment.

 

“You’ve got some pretty good instincts, Underoos,” Tony reminds him in a hushed voice. “I always forget that.”

 

Peter shrugs. “Yup,” he pops his lips. They brew in the quiet for a moment, before Peter adds, in a voice that is croaking and fragile, “You don’t call me Underoos that often anymore.”

 

Tony smiles and exhales sharply through his nose. “You don’t wear the pajamas that often anymore,” he explains, “but I’ll call you Underoos if you want.”

 

“I like the other nicknames you’ve got for me,” Peter responds, nonchalant and open. “Buddy, kid, Spider-Kid, Spiderling, Pete - that stuff. It’s, uh, I don’t know, kind of cute.”

 

“ _Cute_ ?” Tony repeats, practically appalled by such a claim. “My nicknames are not cute. I’m _infamous_ for my nicknames. I call Hawkeye _Legolas._ Captain America?  _Capsicle._  James Buchanan Barnes, the Winter Soldier, a HYDRA assassin - I call him the _Manchurian Candidate_ . Loki, Prince of Asgard, is _Reindeer Games_ to me. Oh, Thor, Son of Odin? That’s _Point Break_. My nicknames aren’t cute, Parker. They’re ingenious. Revolutionary. Limited edition. Enterprising. They’re-”

 

“Dear God, Tony, I get it. _Drama queen_ ,” Peter scoffs, and it takes everything in Tony to stop himself from _strangling_ the monster. “Cool it,” he instructs, and Tony glares.

 

“You called me _cute_!” He complains, waving his arms around hysterically with a heavy pout planted on his lips. “I’m not cute, I’m literally Iron Man. You remember - your childhood hero? Your #1 male role model? I saved your life once or twice, you know, the whole shebang?”

 

Peter scoffs and rolls his eyes, but his face is all light and his eyes are sparkling. “You also neglect sleeping 75% of the time, never eat at a normal time, and forget to shower _way_ too often. Some role model you are.”

 

“I know, kid.” Tony smiles at him, kind of bittersweet and tired. “I always _did_ tell you not to look up to me.”

 

For a moment, Peter only stares at Tony, who ushers him to focus on the road. Peter pauses and thinks for a few seconds, before inhaling deep and slow. “You’re the best dad I could’ve asked for,” he says, just above a whisper, and Tony jolts to look at him.

 

No one else is listening to them. Rhodey has been long since dragged into a conversation with Ned on the topic of something scientific and nerdy. Pepper is facing MJ completely, talking in that powerful, proud way she always did, about female empowerment in the workplace; MJ’s eyes are the size of satellites, and she watches Pepper with a carefree sort of adoration that tugs at Peter’s stomach. Peter feels Tony’s weighted stare on him, but he acts like he doesn’t, choosing to look blankly at the street ahead of him. Peter tunes in to his heightened senses momentarily, and counts Tony’s heartbeats, the rhythm steady and whole; he can hear, loud and clear, Tony’s stable breathing, the inhalations and exhalations that land on Peter in the most comforting way.

 

“You’re the best kid I could’ve asked for,” Tony breathes out back to him, and Peter nods.

 

In that moment, he hears May talking to him, hears her saying, _I love you_ , hears how those words rumble in his brain, echo, bounce of the walls of his head; he hears, if only for a split second, May, clear as day, and he can imagine her sitting in between Pepper and Rhodey, talking animatedly about work and Spider-Man and right from wrong and love. He hears May _in_ Tony, in how Tony says _you’re the best kid I could’ve asked for_ , but what he means is what Peter meant too - they mean _I love you_ ; Peter hears _May_ in _Tony_ , and he basks in her presence, pretends she’s still alive and laughing alongside him. Tony’s eyes are wet and steady, and his hands don’t shake at all, and Peter chooses to believe, for a short while, that May is breathing her love of Peter _into_ Tony, from some far away land; that she’s teaching Tony how to love a teenage-mutant-vigilante-spider-boy. As she fades away again, Peter thinks to himself, _Tony loves me like May did_ , and he smiles; in the blink of an eye, she’s gone.


	3. I'm So Tired Of Love Songs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And God, Tony thinks feverishly, why couldn’t May have left me with a handbook?
> 
> He sleeps that night, but it’s cold, and covered in the sensations of wondering, worrying about where your kid has gone. 
> 
> (He wonders if that’s how May used to feel when Peter was out on patrol, if she’d lay awake at night, her heart thrumming in tune with the ceiling fan, waiting for Peter to come home; and, in the same way, terrified to hear the phone ring, to hear the doctors or the police or even Tony tell her the one thing she couldn’t bear to hear. He wonders, and he wishes he’d never feel this way again.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: the F slur is used like 2 times in a VERY NEGATIVE context
> 
> song: i'm so tired... (troye sivan)
> 
> p.s. i would like to clarify that i am a lesbian and i am NOT trying to reclaim that slur for myself but rather i'm integrating the issue of homophobia into this story for the purpose of characterization and Plot and stuff. it's a serious problem and that word has and does seriously hurt people. stay woke y'all

**III. (I’m So Tired of Love Songs)**

 

Tony isn’t so much _pissed off_ as he is _peeved;_ he’s well aware Peter is infamous for his poor time management skills and for prioritizing Spider-Man over normal teenage things, but in the four months that they’d been living together, Peter had not once broken curfew. Tony’s amazed that Peter lasted as long as he did, of course, but it’s Thursday night and _well past_ 2:00 AM when Peter comes rolling in. At 10:00 PM, Tony moves to the lab that he and Peter usually use; at 11:30 PM, he migrates to the living room, turns on a movie and grabs enough popcorn for the two of them to share; he starts to drift off around 1:00 AM, but jolts back awake less than an hour later, when his dreamless sleep is interrupted by a surreal nightmare.

 

* * *

 

 

_“Mr. Stark,” Dream-Peter moaned. “I don’t feel so good.”_

 

 _Tony rushed towards, his arms and legs moving untethered from his body, as if they had minds of their own; as if they were living and dedicated; as if they had a motivation and a mission. Tony knew their mission was only to_ **_save Peter, save Peter_ ** _; he knew as much because it was his too._

 

 _“It’s okay, buddy,” Tony said, but his voice didn’t_ **_sound_ ** _okay; his voice sounded numb and hollow and terrified all at the same time. “I’ve got you, I’m here,” he said, but it sounded like a lie._

 

 _“I don’t wanna go,” Peter whined, over and over again. It was soft, quiet, but felt violent n Tony’s ears, as if it were the high pitched ringing Tony could no longer hear. “Mr. Stark,” he said again, and Tony is met with the realization that Peter, what with calling him_ **_Mr. Stark_ ** _rather than Tony, must be young in this dream -_ **_dream_ ** _, he tries to remind himself, tries to pull himself out of the void in his mind,_ **_it isn’t real, it’s all a dream_ ** _. Nothing changes._

 

 _“I’m here, Pete,” Tony cried, but it fell on deaf ears as Peter -_ **_it’s Dream Peter, not Real Peter,_ ** _Tony thinks, in a fleeting moment of lucidity - continued to fall, this time backwards, taking Tony down with him. “I’m here,” Tony said again, as if being present could make anything better._

 

_Peter wailed, “Mr. Stark,” he was speaking octaves higher than normal, all frail and afraid, and his breath came out in short gasps. “I’m sorry, I’m - I’m so sorry.”_

 

_Tony shook his head. “You did nothing wrong,” he promised, and his voice was broken, his throat rough as sandpaper. “You’re good, buddy, you did nothing wrong.”_

 

_Before Peter could say another word, he was swept away by the wind. Tony watched in horror as Peter turned to dust and began to disintegrate right in front of his eyes; he couldn’t look away, even as every cell in his body begged him to. Peter’s entire body began to break off into a million little pieces, starting at his feet and traveling up, the arm wrapped around Tony’s neck loosening its grip and disappearing; Tony stared into Peter’s eyes, tried to convey the sheer magnitude of the emotions he was feeling - the love, the anger, the fear - and begged, desperately, to turn back time and bring Peter back. All Tony could do was watch, helpless and afraid, as the dust consumed Peter’s neck and face and soon, finally, his eyes, which didn’t look away from Tony’s until the very last second._

 

 _“Give him back,” Tony begged, screaming into the nothingness of his mind, into the orange sky his subconscious had designed, but Peter didn’t come back; soon, all that was around him, the rocky landscape and the purple clouds drifting in the sky and the mound of dust - the mound of_ **_Peter_ ** _\- in Tony’s hand, faded into darkness._

 

* * *

 

Tony sits up, now awake and dripping with a cold sweat; before he’s even _awake_ , he’s furiously nauseous, and he leaps to his feet and moves - he tries to walk, but it’s really more of a _stumble_ \- over to the nearest trash can, immediately throwing up; soon, he only dry heaves over it. As he catches his breath, he coughs out, “FRIDAY - what time is it?”

 

She answers without a pause. “1:53 AM, Boss-” he groans and dips his head forward just slightly- “and, no, Peter has not yet arrived home. Would you like me to contact him?”

 

Tony sighs. “No, that’s alright FRIDAY. I’ll just go look at his vitals.” He shakily stands and attempts to straighten his back, testing the waters with a few small, uncertain steps before he makes the trek upstairs to his and Peter’s lab. Slowly, he walks to the lab, using the wall for support and guidance when he closes his eyes and stumbles forward aimlessly - this part happens a lot more often than he cares to admit.

 

When he finally arrives, he instantly falls to his chair and slouches over with a large exhale. “FRIDAY,” he says, “can you pull up Peter’s vitals?” She does so without a word, Peter’s data coming up on the screen in front of Tony. He adds, “Can you also show me what he’s seeing? Baby Monitor Protocol?” She does this too, and now, Tony watches as Peter looks at the sky. “Audio on, FRIDAY.”

 

 _“Karen, do you remember Liz?”_ Peter’s voice comes through the microphone, though it’s muffled and crackly. After Karen tells Peter she does, he continues, _“There’s another person like Liz. But this person is different than Liz, too, a-and that scares me.”_

 

 _“Is that why you asked me not to call Tony earlier? Because you are afraid?”_ Tony glares for a moment.

 

“FRIDAY, remind me to change Karen’s code. If Peter ever says the words _don’t call Tony_ , Karen needs to call me.” FRIDAY agrees, but Tony is paying attention to the screen again.

 

 _“Yeah, it is,”_ Peter laughs, but it falls flat and feels unfamiliar - Tony’s never heard Peter laugh in that empty, cold sort of way before. _“I can’t help but think about May, you know? All - all the things I wish I could’ve told her. Like, this sort of thing. She’d know what to say.”_

 

There’s a concoction of feeling which boils inside Tony, _grief_ and _anger_ and _loss_ , but he’s so grateful, so, _so damn grateful_ that May never _once_ made her child feel that incessant emptiness Howard had once instilled Tony to feel every day. The crazed, delirious, overwhelming sensation of _love_ crashes into his gut like a freight train, and he is slapped in the face with the reminder that May is _gone_ , that Peter’s aunt, the only mother he’d ever known, is lost to the world; all that is left of her is the sweater Peter keeps tucked away beneath his nightstand, and the boxes that have been left undisturbed since the day Peter moved out of his Queens apartment. Peter isn’t alone, not by a long shot, not when he’s got MJ and Ned and Pepper and Happy and the science teacher who coaches Academic Decathlon and Rhodey and _TonyTonyTony_ ; Peter isn’t _alone_ , no, but Tony remembers how he felt when his mother died, how all the air was sucked out of his chest like the world was a vacuum, so Tony knows that Peter sure as hell _feels_ alone.

 

And maybe that’s why they’re here, somewhere around 2:00 AM on a school night - it’s Wednesday, Tony’s pretty sure, but this week has been blurry and sandy and cold; maybe they’re here - with Tony watching his child break down while he counts the stars along the New York skyline, with Tony feeling more lost and confused than he’d ever felt in his _goddamn_ life - because Peter feels alone. Tony wonders if there could ever be something he could do to make it all go away.

 

Peter cuts through the silence. _“What time is it?”_ When Karen tells him the time, he shoots up and gasps, the camera now panning to show he is on some structure - _maybe a bridge?_ Tony thinks.

 

 _“Fuck, I’m so dead,”_ Peter whines, and Tony nods his agreement. _“I’m so late for curfew, oh my God, Tony’s going to kill me. I just had to go and have an identity crisis, tonight, of all nights?”_

 

Tony shuts off the camera and audio. He stares at Peter’s vitals for a moment longer, watches as the heart rate increases just slightly - but remains steady - and his breathing grows heavier. Tony knows realistically that this is because Peter is now swinging through the buildings, but something inside of him still drops with the weight of his nightmare. _He’s on his way home now,_ Tony thinks, _so I’d better stay up. Or maybe I shouldn’t?_

 

He huffs and shuts his eyes angrily, his face planting itself in his hands while he wipes furiously at the tears threatening to fall. _I wish May left me a handbook or guide or something, because I have no idea what the right call is here._

 

He wonders for a moment, face still buried in his palms - _If it were me_ , he thinks, _would I have wanted Howard to wait up for me?_

 

 _Yes_ , he realizes. _I would have._

 

* * *

 

 

When Peter gets to the tower, Tony’s waiting for him at the edge of his bed.

 

“Fancy seeing you here, at-” he looks down at his watch- “2:17 AM. Huh, I thought that your curfew was 10. Maybe you have a good reason? Tell me, what’s your really good reason for missing curfew by three hours - because it better be _really_ damn good, Peter.”

 

Peter blushes while he crawls through his bedroom window the rest of the way. “I’m really sorry, Tony, I didn’t even know how late it was. I-I lost track of time, I’m _sorry_ -”

 

“I know, Pete,” Tony interrupts, and he doesn’t mean for it to sound as desperate as it does. “I turned on the camera right before you left. And I know you’re _sorry_ , but think about me for, like, just one second. I was scared shitless. It’s been _four hours_.”

 

“You didn’t _call_ ,” Peter responds, like that excuses it, “so I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

 

Tony huffs and flops back on Peter’s bed, and Peter crosses the room to grab a sweatshirt. As he begins to peel off his suit, Tony stays frozen in his position, and his eyes are covered by his forearm as he mumbles, “I was watching your vitals. I knew you were safe, sort of. But I didn’t know _why_ you were out so late, what you were doing, when - _if_ \- you were planning on coming back.”

 

Peter repeats after him, “ _If?_ ” and his voice is all low and surprised. “Did - did you think I wasn’t going to come back? Like, I was running away?”

 

“I don’t know,” Tony croaks, “I don’t know, Pete. I don’t always understand you, and you’re not exactly good at talking about, like, the real stuff. So I didn’t know if, ugh-” Tony groans and sits up, only to slap his hand over his face- “I _didn’t know_ , alright?”

 

Tony looks up to see Peter nod. He says, “I get it. I’m sorry, Tony.”

 

Tony sighs and shakes his head, but stands and strides over to Peter, who almost cowers as the distance between them closes. Tony holds out his arms expectantly, and Peter only needs to blink once before he understands and tucks himself into Tony’s arms, ducking his head underneath Tony’s chin. “Goodnight, Pete. We’ll talk tomorrow.” Peter nods underneath Tony’s head. “Remember, you have to wake up at 6:30, so really, try to sleep, okay?”

 

“Okay,” Peter whispers. “Night, Tony,” he says, and pulls away to toss himself onto the bed. Tony watches as he wiggles underneath the comforter and looks at Tony with these stupidly big eyes, though they aren’t _expectant_ \- perhaps _hopeful_.

 

Tony sniffles and wipes at his nose with the back of his hand. He breathes in deeply, and lets it out long and slow, before walking over to Peter one last time. He brushes Peter’s bangs, which are now curled with grease and knotted due to the mask, out of Peter’s face, and watches as his eyes fall closed when Tony’s hand lands on his forehead gently. He runs his fingers through Peter’s hair for a few long seconds, before leaning down and planting a whisper of a kiss between Peter’s eyebrows. When he pulls away, he sees Peter’s brown eyes are now open, and there are traces of a smile on his face.

 

Peter looks so _young_ . Tony never forgot Peter was young, not really, but looking down at the rosy cheeks and wide eyes of a 16 year old boy, his mind wanders all the way back to Germany, back to the moment he sent a 14 year old _child_ to fight a _war criminal_ , and guilt floods him in the same way love does. _Peter’s so young_ , he thinks, _and yet, here he is: orphaned and alone_.

 

There’s a certain vibe to the room Tony doesn’t understand, not really, but he thinks it feels like how honey tastes; even so, it’s torn apart with Tony’s gentle goodbye. “You should probably shower tomorrow,” Tony says to him in a hushed tone. “Goodnight,” he tells Peter one last time, before turning and leaving. He shuts the door behind him, quiet enough so he doesn’t think it will startle Peter, and walks up to the room he shares with Pepper.

 

He crawls into their bed, trying not to wake Pepper, but she stirs anyway. She opens her eyes blearily and, her voice still riddled with sleep, says, “Is he home?” Tony nods, and she does too. “I was going to stay awake, but I’m not like you, I’m - I got tired,” she explains, like maybe Tony’s upset with her for sleeping like a normal human being.

 

He hushes her. “It’s okay, it’s late, babe, go back to sleep. I’m tired too. Peter’s home, we’re okay.” He wraps his arms around her waist and curls up beside her as she shuffles, turning to face him fully and rest her forearms and cheek against Tony’s chest.

 

Her eyes are closed again and her words are muffled by Tony’s shirt. “Love you,” she says.

 

“I love you too,” he whispers, but she’s already asleep before he can respond.

 

He sleeps that night, but it’s sparse and riddled with nightmares - none of which as bad as the one from before Peter came home. His mind is mostly dark, probably due to all the times he reminds himself, _Peter’s home, we’re okay_. He tries not to worry, tries not to think about all the things he overheard - probably a major invasion of privacy - and all the things he still doesn’t understand; why was Peter out so late? What is he so afraid of? Why would he choose to sit on a bridge or some rooftop and talk to an AI about it, instead of turning to Tony? Is he really that hard to talk to?

 

 _And God,_ he thinks for probably the millionth time since taking Peter in, _why couldn’t May have left me with a handbook?_

 

He sleeps that night, but it’s cold, and covered in the sensations of wondering, worrying about where your kid has gone.

 

(He wonders if that’s how May used to feel when Peter was out on patrol, if she’d lay awake at night, her heart thrumming in tune with the ceiling fan, waiting for Peter to come home; and, in the same way, terrified to hear the phone ring, to hear the doctors or the police or even Tony tell her the _one thing_ she couldn’t bear to hear. He wonders, and he wishes he’d never feel this way again.)

 

* * *

 

 

Tony wakes up early the next morning - only by a few minutes. He feels weightless as he drifts back into consciousness, untethered, but that floating feeling fades quickly when he’s reminded of the events from the night prior. He slightly lifts his head, which suddenly feels as though it weighs a couple hundred pounds, to focus on the noises and sights all around him. Only a room over, he can hear the shower running - _Pepper_ , he thinks, as he turns to see the empty spot next to him - and even further, there’s music. Peter has this weird, sort of annoying habit of blasting his playlist on full volume in the morning, so he’s _“pumped for the day”;_ for a while, he’d do it every morning, but slowly, he began to reserve it for after the nights he comes home late or wears himself out during patrol. Tony swears it bugs him - and if anyone asks, it does - but sometimes, Peter plays a song that repeats in Tony’s head all day long, and it just makes him think about _Peter_ through the boring meetings, rather than the financial mumbo jumbo he’d have to listen to otherwise.

 

Tony drags himself out of bed and pulls on a clean pair of sweatpants. He lets himself into the bathroom he shares with Pepper, who laughs from inside the shower while he brushes his teeth in slow motion. He’s barely awake, and not even enough to be fully functioning beyond thinking, _teeth gross. coffee good._ After he’s satisfied with his morning breath - or lack thereof - he stumbles down to the kitchen, yelling at Peter to hurry up on the way. He drinks his coffee as quickly (and efficiently) as he can, before attempting to prepare a semi-healthy breakfast for Peter. By the time Peter makes it to the kitchen, the eggs are more than halfway cooked and Pepper is already pouring herself juice.

 

“Drink apple juice,” Peter says, barring a hello, “OJ will kill you.” There’s a pregnant silence that sits between the three of them while Pepper and Tony stare at Peter, whose smile doesn’t falter. The silence is broken by Tony dropping his head into the palm of his hand and resting his elbow on the counter beside the stove while laughing hysterically.

 

“That was really bad, Pete,” Pepper snorts, shaking her head.

 

“You got it though, right? OJ Simpson? Notorious murderer?”

 

“To be fair,” Tony butts in, clearing his throat, “the verdict was _Not Guilty_.”

 

“Verdict schmerdict,” Peter retorts, like it makes any sense at all, and Tony chuckles again.

 

“Sit down,” Pepper instructs.

 

“It’s talking time, Mr. Parker.” Tony hands Peter a plate, and Peter groans and pouts, but he sits anyway. “Spill the beans, Pete. What happened last night?”

 

“Honestly, Mist- Ton- ugh, I mean,” he moans at his own awkwardness, but Tony thinks its cute. “I went out for patrol. I finished patrol - it was a slow night, not a lot going on, you know? And then, I just wanted to chill on the Hell Gate Bridge for a little bit, but, like, all of a sudden, Karen was telling me it was past 2. But it doesn’t make sense to me, really, ‘cause I finished patrol at, like, 11. So, I don’t have a good reason or even a mediocre excuse, I just- I’m sorry.”

 

“So you’re saying that the _really good_ reason is… you don’t have one?” Tony asks, as if he isn’t fully aware that’s _exactly_ what Peter is saying. Peter shrugs his confirmation. Pepper sighs a little and buries her face in her arm, but Tony knows there’s a smile on her face.

 

“I’m sorry,” Peter whines, and Tony can feel his heart cracking a little because he _knows_ Peter is, but he also knows that he’s supposed to do something about Peter breaking the rules, because the kid can’t just live life by his puppy dog eyes.

 

“I know, baby,” Pepper says, and rubs his arm. “But you broke the rules, right?” Peter nods, his cheeks flushed and eyes watered.

 

“You’re grounded next week,” Tony tells him, voice gentle and loving. “No patrol, no friends. After school, you come straight home.” Peter sighs, but he’s also, deep down, a little bit grateful; Tony has always been a merciful parent.

 

“That’s - that’s _so_ fair. You’re so awesome. You’re the best. I’m so sorry, y-you’re such a good dad, I - thank you, I’m sorry,” Peter rambles, breathless, his words all blending together. Pepper raises her brow and flickers her eyes to Tony when Peter says _you’re such a good dad_ , but Tony ignores her and tries to hide his grin.

 

“I _know_ , Pete,” Tony whispers, eyes swirling with emotions unknown. He reaches up to brush his fingers through Peter’s hair, and Peter’s eyes fall closed in a slow, long blink, as his head dips forward. “It’s okay, bud, don’t get yourself all worked up about it. Eat your breakfast, you leave in 15.”

 

Happy gets to the tower early, and Peter’s ready anyway, so they leave five minutes before they _really_ need to. On Peter’s way out, he calls a goodbye over his shoulder to Tony, and plants a kiss on Pepper’s cheek. As soon as he’s out the door, Pepper flips around to look at Tony.

 

“He called you _dad_ ,” Pepper says, her eyes all wide and her lips curved up. “You heard it right? I know you did. He said you’re a _good_ dad, too.”

 

Tony rolls his eyes, but a blush spreads over his cheek. “Yeah, Pep, I heard it, I was there.”

 

“It was cute,” Pepper continues, “you two are cute.” There’s a pause between the two of them, while Tony glares at her - though the smile on his face defeats the purpose - and she stares right back at him, unfaltering. “Being a dad is a good look on you,” she adds quietly, before kissing him briefly and sauntering away.

 

"Everything is a good look on me," he calls, because the world feels all thick and warm around him, but she's gone now.

 

He bites his lip. The word _dad_ replays in his head, leaving an unfamiliar taste in his mouth; the taste isn’t bad, though, he realizes, and is instead sweet and warm and welcome. He lets it flood his gut, feels it course through his veins and throb in the back of his head. Briefly, he feels weightless, pulled into the air by the sheer force of pretending, _wishing_ , to be Peter’s dad. He sucks in a breath, shakes his head and turns away, locks himself in his lab and tries to ignore the swirling thoughts in his head, calling to him, telling him a million different things; _you’re a horrible role model, you shouldn’t be trusted around children_ , one screams, and yet another hums, _Peter is your child, your son, your kid_. He rubs at his temples with a furrowed brow and eyes shut tight, and lets himself drown in the feeling of creation.

 

* * *

 

Peter gets home at 3:47 PM; he’s not late, which Tony is grateful for, but his eyes are red and tired and sad. He doesn’t say _hello_ to Tony or Pepper on his way in, and instead, hurries silently to his room and slams the door behind him. Tony watches it all through FRIDAY’s camera with wide, curious eyes; Peter’s never been a very angry kid, only as much as any teenager is, and he never, _ever_ slams his door. After less than half an hour of letting Peter brew in his bedroom, Tony leaves his unfinished work on the desk and moves upstairs to Peter’s room.

 

Rapping on the door quietly, Tony calls out to Peter, “Hey, bud, can I come in?”

 

Peter doesn’t respond, but through the door, Tony can hear Peter say, “ _FRIDAY, unlock the door and open it?_ ” When it creaks open just slightly, Tony pushes his way in to see Peter facedown on the bed. Tony smiles at him, even though he doesn’t see it.

 

“Hey,” he says, soft and quiet and _paternal_ , “what’s wrong?” Peter ignores him, but he shuffles and flips over to stare up at the ceiling, avoiding Tony’s eyes. Tony frowns and places a hand on Peter’s head, his fingers detangling the knots in Peter’s curls. “Please, talk to me. I wanna help.”

 

“You _can’t_ help,” Peter whines, and his voice cracks a little - not from puberty, but from the tears welling up in his eyes. “There’s nothing you can do to help.”

 

“Let me try,” Tony insists, begs; _It’s what May would’ve done_ , he reminds himself, but he knows just as well he would’ve done it with or without her influence. Peter huffs, his lip folding over in a pout, and he darts his eyes to look into Tony’s. “Please,” Tony adds.

 

“I - I don’t know where to start,” Peter admits.

 

Tony hums and nods knowingly - and maybe a little motherly. He settles in on the bed, pulling Peter’s head onto his lap, and continues to run his hand through Peter’s hair. “Try the beginning?”

 

Peter breathes in and hold it for a second, before exhaling deeply. “Okay,” he says, and nods.

 

“Y-you know, um, Ned right?” Tony nods, _of course I know your best friend_. “Well, uh, there’s this kid at school, Flash, I’ve mentioned him, I think. He kind of picks on Ned and I, he always has, but he’s pretty merciful towards Ned, usually. He just calls him names and stuff. B-but me, you know, he pushes me around. Not just words, I mean.” Tony quirks a brow, and makes a mental note to call Peter’s principal about the apparent bully. “And, well, Ned and I protect each other, right? We look out for each other. Ride or die, a-and all that shit. B-but today, Flash was just, like, extra mean? Um, he just - I don’t know - he said some stuff that hit me, like, really hard.”

 

Tony asks, “What did he say?” and Peter squeezes his eyes shut, reaching up to wipe the lids in hopes of compelling his tears to stay away.

 

“He - he called me something. S-something that’s _true_ . He made a comment about Ned, called him fat, and asked me where I got my shoes. I s-said you got them for me, I - I didn’t know I _shouldn’t_ have, and Ned tried to pull me away before Flash responded, s-so Flash asked if we were _dating_ , a-and then he said-” Peter chokes on a sob in the back of his throat, and Tony feels a tear run down his cheek- “he said he didn’t think you’d let me have one of those, have a _boyfriend_ , when I’m not u-underneath _your desk_.”

 

Tony’s head drops forward and he wipes away his own tear; there’s something boiling inside of his gut, and he’s fucking _enraged_ . “He _said_ that?” Peter sighs and nods.

 

“He said something else, too,” he responds, kind of guilty and embarrassed. Tony prods at him to continue. “He called me a f- _fag_ -” Peter clears his throat, tries to hide the sob choking him- “and Ned, too.”

 

Tony tries to pretend he isn’t crying, so Peter doesn’t think he’s some fucking crybaby. “Pete,” he croaks, “I - I’m so sorry, I don’t know what to say.”

 

Peter shrugs. “I told you you couldn’t help, it’s not your fault,” he says, but all Tony can do is feel like it _is_.

 

“It’s not yours either,” Tony tells him, a firm hand reaching around to hold Peter’s cheek. “Amd I’m telling your principal. By the way.”

 

“But-”

 

“Don’t do that. I’m telling the principal. You can’t argue. I’m the parent. I win.” For a second, Tony’s scared Peter is going to cry; he stares blankly up at Tony, but his lip wobbles and his cheeks flush. Before Tony can even blink, Peter’s flashing him his token Parker grin and pulling himself up to sit and stare at Tony.

 

“Thank you, Tony,” Peter whispers. He shuffles backwards and positions himself between Tony’s legs, while Tony wraps his arms around him tight. They curl up like that for a little while, the only sounds in the room being the whirring of the tower’s electricity, but Tony breaks the silence that Peter had been craving would never end.

 

“You said he called you something that’s _true_ ,” he swallows, closes his eyes, like he knows he shouldn’t ask; he asks anyways. “What was it?”

 

“I - I am that thing he said. The - the _f_ thing.”

 

“Do you mean you like boys?” The room all around them thickens, and Peter doesn’t answer at first. He doesn’t know _how_ to - Tony knows as much. It’s not so much of a complicated question, really, but it’s always had complicated _results_ . If Peter says _no_ , Tony may have offended him - that casual homophobia could rear its head into their conversation; if he says _no_ , he may be lying to Tony. If he says _yes_ , Tony won’t know how to respond, but it’s more than that - Peter would be _terrified_ . He’d be pouring himself open for Tony, emptying unto the floor in front of him. Tony waits for a beat after the words come tumbling out before opening his mouth to apologize, to redirect the conversation, to do _anything,_ but Peter responds before he can.

 

“I - yeah, well, uh, I guess I do.” Tony nods - _I don’t know what to say_ \- but Peter continues before he has to say anything. “I don’t know if I’m, like, bi or gay or whatever, but, um I have a crush on this - this _guy_.”

 

The words freeze midair, Tony notices as much, and a cold chill settles over them before they drop to the ground and shatter. He stares at the fragments on the floor in front of him, the words Peter can’t ever take back, the words Peter stumbled through, the words that roll like tumbleweeds which are intertwined with thorns, catching Tony on the ankle as he passes by. _Peter’s trusting me_ , Tony thinks, _even after all the things this kid said to him_.

 

“Honey,” he begins, because he knows Peter loves it when Pepper calls him that, “you _know_ that’s okay, right?” He doesn’t wait for a response. “That’s just how you were made or whatever, you just like boys, that’s _okay_ , bud, that’s no big deal.”

 

“Yeah, ‘cept you have some - some _fag_ for a kid.” Tony jolts in surprise, and he doesn't know if it's only because Peter called _himself_ that word, or if Peter saying that he's  _Tony's_   _kid_ had anything to do with it.

 

“What the fuck are you on about?” Tony says, his tone dripping with an ocean of feeling, rage and fear and sadness and all. “You’re not some - _whatever_ . You like boys, Peter, I don’t give a shit, and anyone who _does_ can kiss my fucking ass. You’re - you’re a _kid_ , Pete, you’re _my kid_ , and if someone has a problem with a teenager being a human _fucking_ being, I'll - well, I don’t know what I’ll do, I didn’t think that far ahead, but it _won’t_ be pretty.”

 

Peter stares at him blankly. His back is still up against Tony’s chest, but he’s contorted his upper body so that he’s facing Tony, his neck twisted and in a rather uncomfortable looking position. Without a word, Peter detaches himself from Tony’s hold once again, but rather than pulling away, he moves to sit on his knees, still between Tony’s legs, and leans down to wrap his arms around Tony’s waist. He smashes his face into Tony’s neck, and squeezes tight, but there isn’t a trace of his spider strength; all of it is solely from Peter fiercely _loving_.

 

“Thank you,” Peter mumbles against Tony’s skin.

 

Tony asks the only other thing on his mind. “Did you ever tell May?”

 

They don’t _talk_ about May a lot. Tony _thinks_ about her all the time, and he knows Peter does so even more, but those thoughts aren’t often brought into their plane of existence. Rather, they prefer to wallow in silence, to let grief overtake them on the bad days, and to pretend it’s okay the rest of the time. When May first died, Tony tried _hard_ to talk about it; after all the stupid therapy he’d done, he’d known bottling it up was _never_ good. But, eventually, Peter stopped talking about it, and Tony stopped asking. Now, here, in the freezing silence that is somehow filled with warmth, Tony can’t shut off his mouth, can’t help but ask it aloud.

 

Peter shakes his head. “I wish I did,” he admits, quietly. “She would’ve - it could’ve - I don’t know. I just _wish_ .” Tony doesn’t get it, he doesn’t really get it at _all_ , but he nods his head like he does. What else is he supposed to do?

 

Minutes pass, but they’re frozen there, until Peter decides to offer an explanation for some of his recent endeavors. Tony doesn’t move an inch, and all Peter does is lift his head to lay against Tony’s shoulder so his mouth is not muffled. “Last night, I went out to visit Ned. After patrol. And we hung out for a while in his room and we were sitting really close together and I remember thinking, _I’m past curfew, aren’t I?_ but I didn’t care because our knees were up against each other’s, and he was leaning in like he was gonna _kiss me_ , but I panicked and ran away. And then I had a mental breakdown for, like, two hours.”

 

Tony stifles his laugh, but Peter hears it anyway. “Dude-” he cuts himself off to snort and shake his head- “I don’t even know what to say. Have you, like, talked to Ned about it?”

 

“No, but I think we were going to when Flash came up to us. Maybe that’s why he did, maybe that’s why he said those things, maybe that’s why it hurt so bad. I don’t know.” Tony hums, and at first, he isn’t going to say something, but he decides it’s kind of important even if it goes without saying.

 

“First of all, remember you’re not allowed to break curfew for boys either. Unless you really want the _Stark Wrath_.” Peter smiles and buries his face back into the junction where Tony’s neck meets his shoulder. The heat on Tony's skin is evidence that Peter's hiding the blush spreading across his cheeks. “Second, I - I know I don’t have to say this, but maybe you have to hear it? I - I just,” he sighs and shuffles in his spot, “I accept you, you know? I’m cool with you liking boys and I accept you and you’re still my kid. But you’re, uh, always my kid. No matter what. Like, unconditionally.”

 

Peter doesn’t say a word, but Tony doesn't think he has to. In the back of his mind, he thinks he can feel Peter mouthing _I love you_ against his skin, and that doesn’t make it okay, not really, but in some ways, and maybe in all the ways it matters - doesn’t it?


	4. I Could Do It For The Kids

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Promise?” he asks, his tone sore and tired and sad; Tony knows why. It’s because the only people who’ve said that, said "I love you" to Peter Parker have died. Peter told Ned once that he thinks he’s cursed, that he’s terrified of being a part of a family because _what if I get them killed, Ned?_ Tony eavesdropped, he couldn’t help it, and yet, when he’s holding on tight to Peter, to his son, there isn’t even a fraction of him that’s afraid of the Parker curse; rather, every cell in his body oozes out an immeasurable amount of love for Peter, and it takes everything in him not to murder any person who has ever made Peter feel cursed in cold blood.
> 
>  
> 
> “I promise,” Tony insists, and the grip Peter held on Tony’s shirt loosens, Peter’s hand falling flat against his chest, fingertips resting atop of Tony’s heart. He knows Peter is listening to his heartbeat, he can feel Peter’s fingers thumping in time with it, and he hopes that it’s steady enough to comfort Peter, to provide him with even just a sliver of sunlight in response to Peter’s cloudy thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: none tbh except very very undetailed descriptions of violence  
> song: kids (franke)

There aren’t many things Tony knows _how_ to be grateful for, but if he is for anything, it’s the fact that Peter’s school went on lockdown as soon as the alarms went off in New York City.

 

Tony’s still not sure how it happened or what _it_ even is, but he knows as follows: 1. _It_ includes aliens - because _of course_ it does; 2. The recently-pardoned Rogue Avengers, namely Captain America, woke Tony up after he slept for the first time in a week, asking for his assistance in saving the city; and 3. As soon as the invasion warning called out, every school of every age went into lockdown, along with hospitals, group homes, rehabilitation centers, and - _thank God_ \- prisons and jails.

 

And now Tony’s here, in his suit, flying off to the heat of the battle. On his way, he instructs FRIDAY to call Peter, and while it rings, he takes the silence as an opportunity to pray to whatever God is out there, one he’s never really believed in before. He thinks about Peter, as he always does, as he always is; he thinks about how, ever since the first time Tony and Pepper took him, he goes to church again every Sunday; how he says grace and prays every night and goes to confession once, sometimes even twice a week; how he found a friend in Daredevil, how he looks up to the vigilante in more ways than one: in faith, in strength, in love. Tony throws a whisper to the wind, and he figures if no one’s out there, if no one hears it and takes it to heart, at least he said it out loud. _Keep Peter safe,_ he mumbles, or maybe he only thinks it (reality is all wobbly now, in his anxiety), _because I don’t give a shit about anything if I don’t have him._

 

And it’s selfish. Of course it is. If he had to tear down New York, burn down every building to keep Peter alive and happy and _good_ , he would. Peter would never let it happen, but Tony’s still willing and ready. The phone stops ringing, and it’s Peter’s voice the cuts through Tony’s thoughts.

 

“Hey, Tony,” Peter says in a low whisper. “W-what’s going on? Is everything okay?”

 

Tony thanks whoever is listening that Peter is blissfully unaware of the likely dire situation ahead. He chooses to be honest in his response. “I don’t know a lot, but I know it’s some kind of invasion. I think the alarms made that pretty obvious. Uh, also, the Avengers were called in.”

 

“Rogues too?”

 

“Yeah - yeah, it was the Rogues’ idea to help, I think. Um, Steve asked me for backup.”

 

Peter’s silent for a minute. Tony hasn’t played _Iron Man_ in a long time, not since Peter’s been living with him. He knows Peter is worried, in the same way that he’s worried whenever Peter goes on patrol. The Avengers haven’t been called in for anything recently, so Peter and Tony both know their presence is proof that this is serious. “And you said yes?” Tony tells him the truth: _yes_ , he did agree, even though he’s terrified of losing Peter, or maybe that’s _why_ he agreed, because he has to protect the city Peter’s fallen in love with - Tony leaves most of that out. Peter sighs. “I want to come help. Please. Let me come help.”

 

“No way, Spider-Baby. This is the real deal. We don’t know anything about these guys’ tech, what if it fucks you up? Sorry, Peter, I - I’m not letting you come. Stay with your friends at school. Be there for them.”

 

“They’re all asking why I haven’t gone yet,” he whines, and Tony rolls his eyes. He can see the battle now, from the sky; the Avengers, Rogues and all, are standing in a circle, Steve speaking animatedly, probably dishing out orders. Behind him is James Buchanan Barnes, and Tony tries not to think about all the ways he wishes he could apologize.

 

“Tell them I’m old and I’ll go into cardiac arrest if you leave that classroom, because I will. Pete, _please_ stay there. I can’t lose you.”

 

Peter’s response hits Tony in a way he hopes nothing ever does again. It’s a surge of love that pangs his heart, but it’s blended with fear and anger and hopelessness - just like Peter’s voice. “I can’t lose _you_!” Peter’s desperate, Tony hears it, and Tony is too.

 

“I know, honey,” Tony sighs, and he makes way to land nearby the circle of Avengers, all of which stare at him expectantly. “I’m there now. I have to go. I will call you as soon as I can, I’ll pull you out of school for the day once this is all over and we can go get, uh, frozen yogurt. At that place you like.”

 

“Nu-Yo,” Peter whispers, and Tony nods like they can see each other.

 

“Yeah, Nu-Yo. I have to go, bud.”

 

“Please be safe, Tony. _Please_ ,” Peter begs.

 

Tony sniffles, holding back the angry tears that are furiously clouding his vision. “I, uh, I will be. Pete?” Peter hums to let Tony knows he’s still around. “Stay with your friends. Ned needs you right about now, I’m sure. And MJ will pretend she doesn’t, but she definitely does. I love you.”

 

It’s the first time he’s said it out loud, but they’ve danced around those words more than a million times. He knows Peter’s aware of it, he fully believes that Peter recognizes at least a _fraction_ of how much Tony loves him, and that’s more than enough, but if there’s ever a time to say it, it’s now, when Peter might never hear it from him again.

 

“Don’t say that. That makes me think you’re gonna die. Don’t _say_ that!” Peter’s voice cracks, and Tony can tell Peter’s crying. He wonders if Ned and MJ are comforting him, limbs tangled up in the way Peter likes it, or if Peter’s pushed them away like how he tries to when he’s afraid.

 

“I love you, Peter. Let me say it.” Peter doesn’t respond, and Tony hears the labored breathing through the microphone. “I love you, hon. I - I’ll see you soon, okay? It’s gonna be okay.”

 

“‘Kay,” Peter mumbles. “I - uh - you too. Bye.”

 

Tony’s not even hurt Peter didn’t say it back. That’s the thing: he doesn’t give a shit if Peter loves him too, if Peter thinks of him like a dad in the way Tony thinks of him like a son. He just can’t go out onto the field without Peter hearing it. Without Peter knowing for sure. Without Tony saying it. It’s selfish; he doesn’t care if Peter loves him. He just needs to be sure Peter knows Tony does.

 

“Iron Man,” Steve greets Tony with a polite, scarred smile. “Thank you for coming.”

 

“That’s the job, isn’t it?” He sticks out his hand to Steve. _A truce_. “Good to see you again, Cap, this time on the same team.”

 

Steve looks at his hand for a minute, before gripping it tightly. “You too, Tony.” Still behind him, Bucky looks at Tony apprehensively. Tony reaches out his hand to him, too.

 

“Barnes,” he says, and hopes that Bucky understands it as an apology in all the ways Tony can’t really say it.

 

Bucky kind of smiles back at him. “Stark,” he responds, and shakes Tony’s hand. _He understands_ , Tony realizes, and if the world’s going to end today, at least he got it all off of his chest.

 

Tony says hello to all the others: Wanda doesn’t smile at him, but she does nod, Clint pulls him in for a hug and whispers an apology in his ear, Sam claps his shoulder, and Natasha smiles at him in that token Russian-spy kind of way. He introduces himself to Ant Man, who Tony remembers as the guy who smacked Peter into the ground, so maybe he’s a little bitter; Scott is nice, though, and Tony actually thinks Peter would love him.

 

Vision and Rhodey are there too. They look at Tony with a sad, knowing look in their eyes, like they heard his goodbye to Peter. Vision informs Tony that T’Challa, the Black Panther, is on his way over from Wakanda; it becomes even more apparent to Tony that this is an international, worldwide attack. New York City is only the beginning.

 

Steve lays out the plan while the aliens are still in their dumb UFO, circling the group from above. Steve will ask them to leave nicely - _like that’s ever worked_ \- and, in the impossibly likely event that they _don’t_ agree, the Avengers will take them down.

 

* * *

 

They don’t listen. Why would they? Instead, they send down a couple hundred robots that are hilariously adorable, and resemble a pack of dogs; _I’m definitely saving one of these guys_ , Tony thinks, _this tech is kind of awesome_ . He _almost_ feels bad when he shoots a dozen or so out of the sky with the wave of his hand, but he’s considerably less guilty when they bare his teeth at him and charge.

 

Time passes by slowly, like it’s stuck in amber or molasses or ice. His body feels heavier and weaker with every punch, kick or blast. They’re winning, at first, which Tony’s _definitely_ grateful for, but the Avengers are all (mostly) human, with unfortunately human bodies, and soon, they’re tired, while the robots remain unfazed. T’Challa and Nat begin to falter in their fights, Clint and Scott start falling behind, Wanda’s powers are diluting, Vision and Sam appear like they’ll fall over at any given moment, and even Steve and Bucky get their asses handed to them by a baby robot dog. Rhodey and Tony are leaning on each other for a while, but Rhodey runs off to help Sam for a minute, which Tony is pleasantly surprised by. He gets distracted, though, and all of a sudden he’s on the ground.

 

He fights back, but it’s feeble and useless. He’s got a shit ton of metal separating him from the bot, but his hopefulness that it’ll protect him fades the moment the bot rips off a strip of his suit with its teeth. He attempts to buck the bot off of him, thrashing and squirming violently, but the reason it finally leaves is the _worst_ reason within the realm of possibility.

 

“Aw, come here, boy,” a familiar voice chimes out from above the ruckus. “Robo Dog, come!”

 

It chases after Peter, who leaps up and swings away from Tony, giving the older man a minute to catch his breath. Rather than doing that, Tony mutes his comm with the other Avengers, and calls Peter’s AI.

 

“I told you to _stay at the school_ , Peter.” Tony’s voice spits out venom that’s made entirely of fear and despair and love.

 

“Karen was keeping me updated on your vitals, and you’ve been dwindling for awhile now. I couldn’t just keep _watching_. I can just get the civilians out. I won’t even bother you, I promise.”

 

“It’s not you _bothering_ me that I’m worried about. Pete, this - this shit is _dangerous_.”

 

Peter sighs, and Tony looks over at him, perched on a lamppost a ways away. He can see Peter watching him carefully, and though there are masks between them, Tony can tell Peter’s brows are all furrowed, just like they are whenever he’s worried; just like they are during those nights Tony doesn’t sleep and stays in the lab instead, or the afternoons when he forgets to eat. “I know that,” Peter says quietly, “which is why I had to come.”

 

Tony knows he can’t stop Peter. He knows it’s too late now, and hell would freeze over before Peter would go home willingly. _If he’s gonna be here_ , Tony thinks, _we’re gonna look out for him_.

 

“I’ll patch you into the comms,” is all Tony says before he asks FRIDAY to hang up and adds Peter to the other call. When he switches back to the Avengers, Steve’s voice is strained and fearful.

 

“Tony - uh, Iron Man, where did you go?” Steve asks.

 

Tony huffs. “Sorry, uh, had to deal with something. I’m back now, with a stowaway. Avengers, meet Spider-Man. Underoos, these are the Avengers.”

 

“Oh, dope,” Peter responds, because he’s a _teenager_ , a _kid_ , and now he’s on the phone with Captain America. Tony wonders if he’ll pretend to be grown up, like he sometimes does when he feels nervous and awkward, or if, by the end of the night, he’ll have the team wrapped around his finger. “Uh, nice to meet you all, I - I’m Spider-Man. Like Iron Man said.”

 

“He sounds _young_ ,” Clint retorts through the comm.

 

“Tony, how old is he? Hey, Spider-Child, how old are you?”

 

“Uh,” Peter stumbles through the beginning of an answer before Tony cuts him off.

 

“He’s old enough to kick your ass, Wilson,” he rolls his eyes. “He’s here, I can’t get him to leave, so he’s staying. Play nice. He’s getting civilians out of here. That’s _it_.”

 

The team agrees, but _of course_ nothing ever goes Tony’s way, and it’s only minutes later, when he’s distracted by an alien robot dog, that another one comes up to attack him with his guard down. He notices it in his peripheral vision at the last second, and while he fends off the robot in front of him, he waits for a blow that never comes.

 

When what he’d been fighting is cracked and broken on the ground, he turns to where he thought the dog would be. The dog is there, as Tony expected, but _underneath_ the dog is what takes him aback; there, curled up below the claws of a now inactive robot, lies the contorted form of a boy, whose suit is so dirty and torn so horribly that it’s almost unrecognizable, but Tony sees the black sketch of a spider on the boy’s chest and knows immediately who it is. _Peter._

 

He screams violently enough for his throat to feel raw. Everything is a blur when he sees Peter, and though there’s a mask separating them, he’s sure the young hero is bloodied and bruised. Tony runs towards Peter, stumbles as he nears and falls to his knees on the ground beside him. He unburies Peter from beneath the bot, shaking the boy violently in hopes of waking him. Someone’s arms snake around his chest and pull him away, even as he shouts for them to let him go. He’s tossed to the ground, and through his clouded vision, he can see the blurry outline of who Tony _thinks_ is Steve lifting Peter up and carrying him bridal style to the medic team. Another stranger’s arms wrap around him, this time over his shoulders, and they hold him tight, providing him with balance while the ground all around him begins to shake and sway. He opens his mouth and tries to say, _Save Peter, please, save him_ , but all the words come out gargled and muted, as if he were underwater. His eyelids weigh a thousand pounds while he struggles to keep them open, and the second he starts to turn his head to look at the person helping him stand, the world goes black and falls silent.

 

* * *

 

_The darkness surrounded him. Swallowed him whole. As if it were a beast; as if it were a monster, milling around in the depths of a murky lake, only creeping to the surface when stalking its prey. It was far too dark for him to see even a few inches in front of him, but he stumbled forward, until his hands came in contact with the cold surface of a concrete wall. He pressed his forehead against it, and it was icy against the sweltering heat of his own skin, while he tried to steady his breathing. He couldn’t remember what had happened that day; as he thought back to before, all that he was met with were blank pages of memories, broken questions left unanswered and pencilled faces left unfilled._

 

_He stood there, but only for a moment, because it wasn’t before long that the darkness faded all around him and blossomed into a blinding white light. The brightness throbbed in his head, so he blinked until there were no longer shapes clouding his vision, until he could see clearly. When he did, he noticed the wall in front of him was painted red, slick with blood, and he whipped around. The sudden movement made him dizzy, and as the room all around him rushed back and forth like the waves of the ocean, he stumbled forward. He saw, in front of him too, more blood, though in this moment it was puddled on the floor and it drenched his bare feet as he walked. Slowly, hesitantly, he stood tall and looked straight ahead. There, his eyes met with the emotionless, unblinking ones of his son. Peter’s brown eyes bore holes into Tony’s, and his skin was faded and pale and green. There was blood seeping out of him, and Tony fell forward, tried to find where it was coming from, but he couldn’t. Peter’s chest was still rising, just barely, and while Tony sobbed into his dying body, he breathed out a goodbye._

 

_“I love you,” Tony tried to say, but Peter didn’t seem to hear him._

 

_“Tony?” Peter croaked. “Tony, help me, please. Somebody, anybody, please help.”_

 

_Peter’s voice was hopeless, angry in a desperate sort of way Tony was unfamiliar with. He wanted to combat it in his response, so he said, “I’m here,” but his words fell on deaf ears._

 

_Peter sobbed, “Please, Tony, help me,” before he faded away. Tony’s hands gripped his biceps tight, and he shook Peter, called out his name in a creaky, tired tone, but Peter only fell limp in his hold._

 

_“I couldn’t save him,” Tony said, “I failed him,” and as his forehead landed on Peter’s collarbone - which was still warm but cold in a way that made Tony gag - his eyes fluttered shut._

 

* * *

 

Tony jolts awake, sitting up, and the words tumble out of his mouth before he can stop it. “Peter,” he whispers, but as his eyes dart around the room, the only face he sees is that of Rhodey’s.

 

“Hey,” Rhodey says in a quiet, gentle voice, “good morning, sunshine.”

 

“Hey,” Tony responds just as quietly, though rather than gentle, he’s trembling in fear. “What happened? I just - I just remember Peter, under - um, under the robot dog thing, a-and then the w-walls were red and there was _b-blood_ everywhere-”

 

“Peter’s okay. We got him a bed, he’s sleeping in the room nextdoor. The rest of that was just a nightmare. No red walls or blood or anything.”

 

That doesn’t _really_ reassure Tony, but it’s still better. A rush of relief surges over him, saying to him, _Peter’s alive, I didn’t fail him, he’s okay_ , and it’s not good, not by any means, but it’s _better_.

 

“What happened?”

 

Rhodey frowns, and shuffles further towards the edge of Tony’s bed. He realizes, now, that he’s in a hospital room, and although not in a gown, he’s hooked up to a couple dozen machines that all beep at him methodically. Rhodey lays a hand on Tony’s knee, and says, “While you were fighting one of the alien robot things, Peter saw there was another one coming towards you, and you didn’t notice it. When it was about to attack you, he tackled it. Took it down in one try. But it fought back, and he hit his head pretty hard during the fight. He’s fine now, though. Minor concussion. Didn’t lose too much blood. His breathing was kind of screwed up when they first got him, a punctured lung, but his body has already healed that. His head will probably be alright within a few days.”

 

“He was u-unresponsive when I got there,” Tony says. “How is he okay? He - he looked _dead_ , Rhodey, he was all bloody and limp and he didn’t say a word. And I still don’t understand what happened, why I’m here?”

 

“He was knocked unconscious, and you freaked out and passed out. And had a minor heart attack. You were in more danger than he was, honestly.”

 

Tony quirks a brow and sits up in surprise. Rhodey pushes him back down, and though he resists at first, he doesn’t try too hard. “Does he know? That I had a heart attack?” Rhodey nods, and before he can say another word, Tony snaps, “I want to see him. Now.”

 

Rhodey sighs. “I had a feeling you would. He’s waiting outside. I’ll go get him.”

 

Rhodey rises off the bed and walks to the door, slipping outside and out of Tony’s line of sight. Everything feels like it’s in slow motion, even Tony’s heartbeat, which thumps rhythmically in his ears. From his bed, he peers out of the small, rectangular window on the door, though he can only see the white walls and chairs of the hallway. He watches the motionless room without even lifting his head from the pillow, but when Rhodey’s face bursts back into view, he sits up. Rhodey opens the door, and in the blink of an eye, a mop of curly hair covers his cheeks and mouth, and he presses his face into it, lets the familiar smell of that strawberry shampoo Peter loves waft into his nose and settle in his mind.

 

“Peter,” Tony whispers in a puff of air. “Hi, honey.”

 

“That was _nuts_ ,” Peter responds, and squirms out of Tony’s grip just enough to stare up at him. His eyes aren’t blank in the way Tony feared they would be. “Like, literally so fucking crazy. You thought I died, and then I thought _you_ died-”

 

“No need to remind me, Pete,” he chastises.

 

“But neither of us died!” Peter amends. “I’m sorry I scared you. You were right. I should’ve stayed at the school, I should’ve listened to you. I’m sorry.”

 

Tony shakes his head. “Pete, you - you’re a teenager, a kid, yeah, but more than that, you’re Spider-Man. I can’t expect you to be okay with sitting around in a high school chemistry lab while your city is under attack. But you should, you know, listen to me and stuff. Just as a general rule.”

 

Peter nods in understanding. “I will, I promise, I - you’re right. I thought I was going insane, and you said _you loved me_ , which made it feel like you knew you’d die, like - like May, and Ben, a-and I - I didn’t - I couldn’t - I don’t know,” he sighs. “I don’t know. I just _couldn’t_. You know?”

 

“I know,” Tony whispers, and lifts his hand to run it through Peter’s hair. The strawberries are faint, probably faded by the musk of sweat and fighting and blood. He inhales deep through his nose anyway, hopes that he can catch even just a fraction of it, just enough to get him by. _What would May say?_ He doesn’t know. He never knew her all that well. But he’s sure she _loved_ Peter, and he’s sure he _loves_ Peter, and that’s enough, that _has_ to be enough.

 

So, he exhales, counts the time it takes for his shoulders to fall, to relax, and he breathes in again, before he says, “I love you, Pete, you - you’re my kid. My heir. The fruit of my loins. My baby. You’re - um, you’re my son. I’m sorry I don’t say it enough. I’ll say it to you every day now. Four hundred times a day. Whatever you need.”

 

Peter snorts and rolls his eyes a little. “It’s okay, you big softy. And, uh, I didn’t say it earlier, but I - I love you too.”

 

“I know,” Tony says again, and pushes his forehead to rest up against Peter’s. They breathe together for a minute, chests rising and falling in sync. Peter’s hand comes up to grip the shirt, near the center of Tony’s chest, and he holds on tight enough that his knuckles start to turn white.

 

“Don’t call me a baby,” Peter mumbles, and the ice of the hospital room breaks when Tony barks out a laugh, boisterous and free and untamed. The door creaks open then, and Tony looks over Peter’s shoulder to see Pepper in the door frame, her fingers pinching at each other in her lap. Tony’s smile only grows, and he waves her over.

 

“Hi, honey,” he says quietly, just like how he’d said to Peter, just a puff of oxygen over the mechanical whirring of the hospital room. In an instant, she wraps her arms around him, and when Peter leans back to give them space, her hand darts out to grab him too.

 

“I thought I lost you,” she tells him, and it wouldn’t even be loud enough for Peter to hear if it weren’t for his enhanced hearing.

 

“You didn’t,” he promises, and Peter tucks his face into the junction between Tony’s rib cage and his underarms. Tony knows, deep down, Peter is trying to hide his tears, but he doesn’t say a word about it, and instead lays a heavy hand on the back of Peter’s head. “I’m here, Pep, always,” he says, and with his free hand, he tangles their fingers together.

 

She squeezes his hand. “I love you,” she responds, “both of you.”

 

Peter nods against Tony’s side, and he can almost feel a smile through his t-shirt. “I love you guys-” his voice is muffled by the fabric, constricted, but Tony and Pepper both can hear it anyway- “don’t leave me, okay?”

 

“Never, baby,” Pepper kisses the hair that curls around Peter’s ear.

 

“Promise?” he asks, his tone sore and tired and sad; Tony knows why. It’s because the only people who’ve said _that -_ said _I love you_ to Peter Parker - have died. Peter told Ned once that he thinks he’s cursed, that he’s terrified of being a part of a family because _what if I get them killed, Ned?_ Tony eavesdropped, he couldn’t help it, and yet, when he’s holding on tight to Peter, _to his son,_ there isn’t even a fraction of him that’s afraid of the Parker curse; rather, every cell in his body oozes out an immeasurable amount of love for Peter, and it takes everything in him not to murder any person who has _ever_ made Peter feel _cursed_ in cold blood.

 

“I promise,” Tony insists, and the grip Peter held on Tony’s shirt loosens, Peter’s hand falling flat against his chest, fingertips resting atop of Tony’s heart. He knows Peter is listening to his heartbeat, he can feel Peter’s fingers thumping in time with it, and he hopes that it’s steady enough to comfort Peter, to provide him with even just a sliver of sunlight in response to Peter’s cloudy thoughts.

 

Every day after this one, every morning and night and afternoon, when Peter slept in past his alarm or missed his curfew or talked back or cried or argued or fought or any and all combinations of the above, Tony mixes every _goodbye_ with an _I love you_ . He says it when Peter creeps up to his bedroom for the night; he says it when Peter calls him to ask if Ned can come over; he says it when he picks up Peter from school, when Peter tumbles into the car with more energy than Tony’s ever had in his life, when he starts rambling about his classes and his team and his friends, talking around in circles until Tony’s dizzy. When he was growing up, he never _once_ heard Howard say those words to him; _If I really love him_ , he realizes, _I need to break the cycle_ ; so he does.


	5. Is There Room For One More Son?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _If May were here_ , he thinks, _what would she say?_
> 
> If May were here, would she hold him; let him cry; tell him that it will all be okay; remind him that Tony _loves_ Peter; remind him that Tony _chose_ Peter? (Except, Tony didn't _really_ choose Peter, it's more like Peter was handed off and Tony had to deal with the repercussions. But maybe, if Peter said that out loud to May, she'd remind him that Tony loved Peter long before he was alone in the world.)
> 
> Peter thinks, just a little bit, that he knew May well enough to know what she'd do if she were still around. She'd probably hug him, pull him in tight against her chest, stand up tall while Peter hunched over so he could tuck his head into her neck. She'd whisper something in his ear, something about _Tony loves you, baby, your dad loves you_ , and maybe Peter wouldn't believe it, but then again, maybe he would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: none this is wholesome but it's bad :(
> 
> song: all these things that i've done (the killers)

_“Well, it’s only been a hundred years since I’ve seen you, so I_ **_suppose_ ** _another day won’t kill me.”_ Tony’s voice, which is floaty and chuckled and it flutters gently into Peter’s consciousness, is suspiciously hushed from a few rooms away, as if he’s trying to outsmart Peter’s enhanced hearing. Peter sits in the lab, his chin resting heavy on the ball of his thumb, while he tries to filter out the white noise to comprehend the words Tony whispers into his phone.

 

They’d been working together all Wednesday afternoon - if only to escape the unmanageable humidity of an East Coast’s June - but their productivity was interrupted by the shrill ringing of Tony’s phone, which was set to only ring through if the calls were from a select number of people: Pepper, Happy, Rhodey, and Peter - or so Peter _thought;_ though Tony had jumped to shield the phone from Peter, his eyes darted over it and caught a glimpse of a contact name flickering on the screen. _Kid: Keener_.

 

It takes everything in Peter to bite down his jealousy. He’d never been a jealous person before - only sometimes, like of his classmates that brought guests to Career Days, or the little boys hugging their dads in grocery stores, or the families all holding hands together at the farmer’s market - but now, today, from the very second that he sees that the person calling Tony is someone he’s fond of, a _kid_ he’s fond of, Peter seethes with something green. It doesn’t fade when Tony comes back, plops down next to him and pulls his head against the ratty fabric donning Tony’s shoulder, but it does appear muted by the time Tony plants a firm kiss on the side of his head and whispers a _hello_ that sounds an awful lot like _I love you_.

 

He tries not to ask about it. He _really_ does, he tries _so_ hard, and yet -

 

And yet.

 

Only a few hours pass before he breaks. It’s well into the evening now, somewhere around 6:30 PM, and though they’re both aware dinnertime is creeping up on them, they remain attached to the project in front of them. Despite his focus, Peter can’t help but drift into dreamland, following his thoughts down the wormhole that is his mind. The words tumble out of his mouth before he even really knows they’re there.

 

“Who’s _Kid: Keener?_ The person you were on the phone with earlier?” Tony appears surprised at the question. Peter wonders if he really _wasn’t_ supposed to see, if he’s going to be in trouble now, if he should be sorry. He _isn’t_ , not really, but he tags that onto his question for good measure. “I didn’t mean to look,” _lie_ , “I just - it was an accident,” _lie_ , “I’m sorry,” _lie_.

 

Tony shrugs and waves his hand nonchalantly. “It’s okay, you’re allowed to be curious.” He sets the scrap of metal he’d been toying with down on the desk, and swivels in his chair to look at Peter. “You remember couple of years ago, probably five or so, during the whole, uh, Mandarin thing, when I sort of disappeared off the face of the planet for a while?” Peter nods, thinking, _Yes, I do, I was 12 years old and for the millionth time in my life, I thought my hero was dead._ He doesn’t say it out loud though, and Tony continues. “I’d gone off to Tennessee, and the suit didn’t work to bring me back, so I… well, I broke into some kid’s garage. He helped me fix the suit. After he shot at me with a homemade potato gun. He - he’s a really smart kid, kind of mean, I think you’d love him, honestly. Name’s Harley.”

 

“ _Harley_ ,” Peter repeats, testing the word on his tongue, to see how it feels, how it falls.

 

Tony hums. “He’s funny, like you. Engineering’s his thing. Building stuff and all that.” Peter’s speechless with envy again, the thoughts milling around his head consisting mostly of things like, _he has another kid like me_ . Except he’s not like _Peter_ , he’s like _Tony_ , and more so than Peter could probably ever be. He can’t _help_ it, he can’t stop his brain from saying those words, but he’s desperate to.

 

“Is - is he visiting or something? I heard you say you could, like, _wait_ _another day_.”

 

“Um, yeah, he is,” Tony looks away now, perhaps the room around them is stiffer than he’d like it to be, and he turns back to fiddle with the parts on his desk. “Day after tomorrow. I - I was gonna tell you, but I didn’t really know where to start, I guess.”

 

Peter tries to understand, he really does, but the only thing that even begins to make sense in his mind is _Tony wants to replace me_ . It plays in his head, a record player on repeat, singing the same, old, scratchy tune, but he _can’t_ stop it, no matter how much he _wants_ to. All that he says is, “It’s okay,” even if it’s kind of _not_ , and the conversation falters, drops off into some bullshit about dinner and school and all the other, easy, meaningless things that Peter’s _good_ at talking about - _extra_ good when he can’t talk about the things he knows he should, like how Tony’s _his_ mentor, _his_ friend, _his_ father; like how he’s desperate to lay claim on Tony, even though he knows just as well Tony _deserves_ a kid who’s mean and funny and strong, unlike Peter in almost every way. He tries to understand _why_ Tony wouldn’t tell him, but all he can think about is how easy it would be for Tony to drop him off at some orphanage and sign away his guardianship, and nothing feels _okay_ at all.

 

* * *

 

When Friday comes, Peter wakes up in the morning with a head that throbs and a stomach that constricts and squirms all around his insides. He’s nauseous, of course he is, but he drags himself out of bed anyway, if only because the guilt settling in his gut is much harder to quell than his migraine. He takes a shower, one that leaves him feeling soggy and cold, before descending to the kitchen, where Tony is making breakfast. He says his _good morning_ to FRIDAY in the elevator as he always does, and when he arrives, Tony doesn’t notice him, so he creeps up from behind and pounces. Within a second, he’s rested his hands on Tony’s shoulders for support, lifted himself up and wrapped his legs around Tony’s back and waist. Tony stumbles just slightly towards the counter, where he’d been stirring the pancake mix, but balances himself quickly with a laugh.

 

“Hey, you little monster,” he chuckles, trying aimlessly to shake Peter off, despite being fully aware of Peter’s stickiness. “You sleep okay?”

 

Peter buries his face into the back of Tony’s neck and nods, humming. “Fine,” he mumbles, “but I woke up feeling kind of sick.”

 

“You want tea?” Tony offers, already moving towards the cupboard to grab Peter’s favorite tea. Peter shakes his head and pulls on the collar of Tony’s shirt. “Just gonna be a sloth, then?” Peter nods again and nuzzles his head further, where the base of Tony’s neck meets his hair.

 

Tony continues cooking in silence for a while, the only sounds passing through the room being the sizzling of batter on the stove and the gentle whirring of the air conditioning. Peter halts the quiet when he lifts his head up just enough for his voice to be heard clearly, and says, “So, that Harley kid is coming today, huh?”

 

“Yup,” Tony responds. “Happy is picking him up from the airport around 4, and we’ll have dinner with him. Do you want to go out or eat here?”

 

Peter shrugs. “It’s up to you. I don’t really know him that well.”

 

“He’ll be fine with whatever you decide. You always choose Friday dinners. C’mon, Pete.”

 

Peter hesitates, but quietly admits, “I’m kind of craving Thai.” He can’t see Tony’s face all the way, but he sees Tony’s cheeks lift up and the corner of his eyes crinkle with a smile. Tony says he has been too, and Peter works _so hard_ to not think about May, to not think about their favorite Thai stop, hidden between two mossy, cobblestone buildings on the corner of Jamaica and Fulton; to not think about how close it is to where May’s casket lays; to not think about how Peter chooses Friday night dinners with Pepper and Tony because _May_ let him choose, too. But Tony says he has been craving Thai too, and although he sounds a lot like May right, and even looks like her sometimes, when his eyebrows quirk at something dumb Peter said, or with the look in his eyes when he tells Peter _I love you_ , Peter knows that _Tony isn’t May_ . Tony is Tony. Tony is Anthony Edward Stark, the guy who was kidnapped and tortued and bounced back, somehow, and for some reason, took Peter under his wing when no one else was around to protect him. Tony’s a lot like May, in a lot of ways, but he _isn’t_ May, he’s Tony, he’s alive and awake and Peter’s got his arms wrapped tight around _Tony_.

 

Something that smells an awful lot like _envy_ and _pancakes burning_ shrinks up Peter’s nose. Absently, he warns Tony not to burn breakfast, but his mind is only contorted to think about _Harley Keener_ , some kid the same age as Peter who Tony loves in the same way as Peter, and he’s _jealous_ . He knows, realistically, he can’t hog Tony, but really, _honestly_ , he doesn’t want to share.

 

It’s still before noon when Tony serves breakfast. The clock falls closer to 1:00 PM by the time they, including Pepper, finish eating and doing the dishes. For a while, Peter thinks about inviting Ned over, maybe that would take away the awkwardness of meeting Tony’s other child, but they’re still stuck in a gross and uncomfortable romance stage and Peter thinks that maybe it’d make it worse. He wants to mention it to Tony, even so, if only to have Tony’s full attention.

 

 _God dammit_ , his mind reels. _I wish May and Ben had other kids. I have only child syndrome. I’m a dick. I’m a selfish, whiny, dad-hogging dick._

 

But still, he doesn’t mind his selfishness; he simply, really, truly, _doesn’t want to share._

 

* * *

 

The hours pass by quietly, unnoticed due to the distractions Peter forces on himself. He starts to binge the entire first season of _The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina_ , because MJ likes it and Ned apparently has a thing for Harvey Kinkle - Peter _stops_ watching, though, when he’s struck with the realization that _Harvey Kinkle_ sounds an awful lot like _Harley Keener_ , and then he’s jealous again.

 

He facetimes Ned for a little while. It’s awkward and weird and kind of cute but mostly just embarrassing. They’ve kissed now, like, _three fucking times_ , but they’re not _dating_ , they’re just _a thing_ , and Peter secretly thinks it’s as ridiculously _stupid_ as Tony thinks it is. He’s a coward, though, so he doesn’t say anything; if not during all the times they were together _in real life_ , watching _Star Wars_ with their pinky fingers intertwined, then he certainly wouldn’t over a _video call_ while Ned’s wearing a funny looking clay mask on his face and Peter’s complaining about DUM-E putting web fluid in the smoothie he made.

 

By 3:00 PM, Peter’s a little bit bored out of his mind, and on top of that, he knows that there’s nothing to distract him from the inevitable weirdness that 4:00 PM will bring. He tries to force his heart to steady, but all that does is piss him off; he goes through some breathing exercises, but that only leads him down an endless spiral. After over half an hour, Peter’s long since accepted his fate, and rather than trying to deal with it or make it go away, he lets himself wallow in it.

 

 _If May were here_ , he thinks, _what would she say?_

 

If May were here, would she hold him; let him cry; tell him that it will all be okay; remind him that Tony _loves_ Peter; remind him that Tony _chose_ Peter? (Except, Tony didn’t _really_ choose Peter, it’s more like Peter was handed off and Tony had to deal with the repercussions. But maybe, if Peter said that out loud to May, she’d remind him that Tony loved Peter long before he was alone in the world.)

 

Peter thinks, just a little bit, that he knew May well enough to know what she’d do if she were still around. She’d probably hug him, pull him in tight against her chest, stand up tall while Peter hunched over so he could tuck his head into her neck. She’d whisper something in his ear, something about _Tony loves you, baby, your dad loves you_ , and maybe Peter wouldn’t believe it, but then again, maybe he would.

 

Here, without May, perhaps soon without Tony too, Peter is craving to be coddled, held, and loved in a childish sort of way. He isn’t even craving _May_ specifically, not like he did when she first died, not like he still does on Sunday’s, birthdays and holidays. He isn’t craving May, not really, but he’s craving all the things that came with her; he’s craving the maternal - or even paternal - comfort, the warmth of two adult arms wrapped around his shoulders, the familiar smell of a parent’s shampoo dancing around his nose. Everything in him aches for the Earth to swallow him whole; if he _does_ not have May or Ben or Richard or Mary, and if he _might_ not have Tony, who else is there to have?

 

Peter doesn’t know how much time has passed staring at the ceiling fan, following the blades as they whir, focusing on the one that has a brownish smudge near its base. He _does_ know, though, that it’s only a little bit before 4:00 when Tony knocks quietly on Peter’s door and peeks his head through the crack with one of those _dad_ smiles on his face.

 

“Hey,” he says quietly, and Peter can’t help but smile too. “Can we talk?”

 

Something drops from Peter’s throat to his stomach: he thinks it might be his heart. He nods, so Tony sits on the edge of the bed, and Peter thinks to himself, _Jesus fuck, what did I do this time?_

 

“I wanted to check in on you,” Tony says with a sigh. “I know you said it’s okay and all, but - but I was reading - well, I was reading a parenting book-”

 

“You read _parenting books?_ ” Peter shoots up with a guffaw.

 

“Do _not_ comment, or I’ll sick Wilson _and_ Barnes on you.”

 

Peter rolls his eyes and grins. He flops back on his bed, holding eye contact with Tony as his heart crawls out of his stomach and into his chest. “Oh, you mean _The Falcon_ and _The Winter Soldier_ , both of whose asses I kicked?”

 

“You’re a brat, Pete,” Tony tells him, but there’s no truth in his tone. “ _Anyways_ ,” he emphasizes, “the book said sometimes a kid - like, an only child - will be, um, _jealous_ when the parents introduce another kid. And - and I was thinking that maybe you might be feeling a little bit jealous.” Peter shrugs, doesn’t answer, and looks away from Tony to pick at his cuticles instead. Tony huffs. “I love Harley,” he says, “he’s an amazing kid, and I love him, but he’s - he’s not replacing you.”

 

“Why not?” Peter asks, propping himself up just slightly on his elbows. “He’s smart, right, and you’ve known him for a while and he’s _funny_ or whatever, and-”

 

“You’re all those things too,” Tony says, maybe whispers, his voice soft and just barely loud enough for Peter to hear. “I love him, Pete, like a son. But I love _you_ that way too. You _know_ that, you have to know that.” Peter pulls his lip in on instinct, and Tony sighs because now _he knows_. He pushes Peter a little bit, and lays down next to him, throwing an arm over Peter’s stomach and nudging a hand into Peter’s hair.

 

“You’re my son,” he hums. “I think you’re gonna love Harley, but I know you’re scared. I know about that stupid curse you were telling Ned about. It’s dumb as shit, by the way, you’re not cursed at all, but I just mean - I just mean you’re probably the most important person in my life, Pete. I could _never_ replace you. No one could.”

 

Peter knows there’s tears welling up in his eyes, so he squeezes them shut, ignores the burning and buries his face into Tony’s shirt. “Please don’t,” he says, all guilty and afraid. Tony shushes him.

 

“I got you bud,” Tony says, “I won’t.”

 

He lets the warmth wash over him, lets the golden aura of the room seep into his bones like he needs it to survive, lets Tony tell him things that Peter thinks might be a little bit untrue, but he lets Tony say them anyway because they’re all the things he wants to hear. He lays a hand on Tony’s chest, feels the thumping of Tony’s heart underneath the calloused pads of his fingers as the vibrations rumble through Peter’s ears, and he tightens his grip on Tony’s shirt when Tony presses his lips to Peter’s hair.

 

After some time has passed, Peter says, “I want to like him. I really do.”

 

“I think you will,” Tony says, sort of like a promise, and Peter thinks that maybe it’ll be okay.

 

* * *

 

When Harley arrives at the tower, Peter, Tony and Pepper are all waiting in the living room. They’re louder, more energetic than they were that morning, Peter and Pepper playing Mario Kart while Tony laughs at them. Peter swears a _lot_ during Mario Kart, so Tony gets a little bit pissed off, but Pepper protects the kid more than enough. FRIDAY announces overhead that Harley and Happy are on their way up at 4:37 PM, and Peter’s heart drops again but it’s not as heavy as before, not as nauseating, not as _sick_. When the elevator beeps open at 4:39, Tony jumps to his feet and beams.

 

“Tony!” Harley’s voice rings out, and Peter turns around to study him.

 

They kind of look alike. Harley’s voice is a little deeper than his, and they don’t look identical by any means, but their hair flops and curls in the same way and they have the same color eyes. Peter thinks they could pass as brothers, even as _Tony’s kids_ , if they worked for it a little.

 

“Hey, Harley.” Tony’s voice is muffled, his face tucked into Harley’s hair. _He does that to me_ , Peter thinks, but he pushes that down, corrects it with a, _He’s allowed to do that to Harley, too._ Pepper and Peter move to stand behind Tony, and when Tony and Harley separate, Pepper pulls in Harley for a hug and whispers a greeting into his ear. They let go, and Peter’s still lingering awkwardly behind his parents, so Tony chirps, “Oh! Harley! I want you to meet Peter!”

 

“Uh, hi,” Peter waves nervously and swallows. Harley smiles at him, and Peter’s shoulders relax a little.

 

“You’re Tony’s kid!” Harley says, and Peter’s eyes widen. “He talks about you a lot, kind of annoying when I’m trying to brag about myself, but it’s cute, I guess.”

 

“Knock it off, Harley.” Tony blushes beet red, and Peter matches. Pepper snorts at them.

 

Peter grins though. _He talks about me_ , Peter thinks, _he calls me his kid_. It’s all okay, he thinks, because at least Tony’s not lying to him about any of it so far. “Sorry, he’s one of those dorky dads that has to one-up everyone. It probably annoys me as much as it does you.”

 

Harley shrugs. “It’s fine,” he says, his eyes all sparkly. “Hey, Tones, can I put my shit somewhere?”

 

 _Language_ , Tony starts to say, Peter can tell, but he stops himself pretty quickly. “Sure, I’ll show you around.”

 

“I can,” Peter offers, because he thinks he should, he thinks maybe it’ll make everything work better, “and you can get the car ready.” He turns to Harley. “We’re going to Thai, but Tony’s letting me drive, so you should probably get a suit of armor so if we crash, your death isn’t on my hands.” Tony laughs at that, but Peter ignores him as he reaches for Harley’s bag. Silently, he asks for permission to grab it through a look at Harley, who nods and nudges it towards Peter. Peter points his head down the hall, inviting Harley to follow; he does, and Peter can hear a bounce in his step.

 

“So, how old are you? ‘Cause you, uh, said you drive,” Harley asks as they enter the elevator.

 

“I’m 16,” Peter smiles at him and the elevator’s engines whirl all around them. “I’ll be 17 in August. What about you?”

 

Harley blushes a little. “I turned 15 in April. So I’ve got a while ‘till I drive.” He shrugs, stepping out after Peter.

 

“That’s okay,” Peter says and leads him along down the hall to the guest room on the same floor as Tony, Pepper, and Peter’s bedrooms. “This is your space, the bathroom’s over there-” he points to the right, where a white door stands- “and that’s a walk in closet, because what else would Tony Stark have?” He gestures to the curtain separating the bedroom itself from its attachment. Harley tosses his duffle bag - which, Peter notes, is raggedy and smells like a gym - onto his bed and strolls briefly through the room, looking around to investigate. “Hey, by the way, how long are you staying?”

 

Harley turns to look at him before he answers. “Uh, I think a week or so.”

 

“Cool,” Peter smiles. “Um, I don’t really know how to do this whole _getting to know people_ thing, so if I seem really awkward and stuff, that’s - that’s why.”

 

Harley laughs. “I don’t really either,” he admits. “Maybe we can skip that part, and after dinner we can just do something fun? Do you like video games?”

 

“Do I?” Peter scoffs. “I’m really on my Mario Kart bullshit these days, ‘cause it’s a classic, but I’ll hop on any bandwagon.” Harley smiles at that, and not that polite one Peter remembers from earlier; this smile is _bright_ and _genuine_ and _good_ , and it leaves Peter thinking about flowers and stars.

 

“Perfect!” Harley bounces on his toes just a little, _just_ enough for Peter to hear it, and nods. “I like - well, there’s this one on the PS4, it’s kind of a kids game - uh, _Overcooked?_ ”

 

Peter laughs. “I love _Overcooked!_ My friends give me hell for it. After dinner, we’ll play?” Harley agrees with another smile and another nod, before Peter leads him back down to the living room, where Pepper and Tony had been waiting for them.

 

Tony is leaning up against the counter, his hands splayed out, unmoving, near the small of Pepper’s back, and Pepper’s arms are wrapped around Tony’s neck, her fingers locked together. They’re kissing - to which Peter thinks, _Gross_ \- so he whips out Snapchat while he and Harley remain unnoticed. Harley looks at him a little funny, but he shrugs and takes a picture - which he immediately saves to his memories, because it’s _freaking_ adorable. He isn’t finished, though; after saving the photo, he begins to record a video of Tony and Pepper, zooming in so close that the screen is completely out of focus. He smiles, leaves a dorky caption - _look @ my  D A D & the love of his life!!! pepperony stans r THRIVING this fine friday night _ \- before showing the video to Harley, who snorts, and sending it to the group chat he shares with Ned and MJ.

 

Now that he’s satisfied with his wholesome blackmail material, he pulls Harley along to watch as he interrupts Pepper and Tony’s _moment_ as rudely as he possibly can: jumping on them. He hops onto the counter and flops over onto them, burying his face between their shoulders, and they pull away quickly to laugh at him.

 

“You really are a brat, Pete,” Tony says, and Peter hums, pushing his head against Tony’s neck.

 

Pepper flicks Tony’s cheek. “Be nice to your son.”

 

“Yeah, jeez, _Dad_ ,” Peter teases, but it doesn’t feel as _teasing_ as it does _loving_ . It isn’t that Peter doesn’t call Tony his dad - the video he sent to Ned and MJ is more than enough evidence of that - but Peter doesn’t call Tony that _in front of_ Tony. Even so, Tony doesn’t flinch, he barely even reacts; the only thing that leads Peter to believe Tony heard it is the smile on Tony’s face that grows wider and brighter the moment the word falls out of Peter’s mouth.

 

Tony pushes him off in favor of throwing his arms in the air and exclaiming, “Thai!” Harley and Peter laugh, and Pepper rolls her eyes even as a grin dances around her lips. He tugs the three of them alongside him, arms wrapped around whoever’s bodies he could reach. Happy drives them there, eats with them, too, after he gives in to Tony’s incessant whining.

 

Peter’s always felt like a family with Tony and Pepper, but he’s never felt _whole_ , either - he hasn’t for years, or maybe he never did at all. He can’t remember experiencing any wholeness when his parents were still alive, but he doesn’t remember much of them except for the yellowish glow framing someone’s laughter. With May and Ben, there was a veil of it splitting his vision, often hiding him from the ugly, moldy memories of before, but still, it’s the closest he’s ever been to whole. _That’s_ the closest he’s ever been to it, and yet, here, with Tony and Pepper and Happy and Harley, too, Peter feels an awful lot like a brother, like an older sibling with his mom and dad and uncle and little brother, like the missing piece of a crooked, imperfect puzzle that Peter can’t help but fit perfectly into.

 


	6. In Spite Of The Uneven Odds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He knows, as well as anyone, that Tony had the _no drinking_ rule for a reason; Peter is more than aware of Tony’s less than satisfactory coping mechanisms, and he knows Tony simply wants for Peter to never make the same mistakes. Thus, _no drinking._ Even so, Peter - perhaps due to the haziness of his mind and the subtle vibrations twinkling up his spine - doesn’t think he’s really making the same kind of decision. _Sure,_ he’s drinking because he’s not sure how to be sober when he’s at his first real high school party and May isn’t around to see it, and _yes,_ he’s perfectly happy to get wasted if it means pretending May could pick him up later tonight, and he is _definitely_ okay with how the blurriness of the dance floor blends with the sharp curves of Ned’s face, but he -
> 
>  _Okay,_ he realizes. Maybe he is making the same kind of decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for this chapter: underage drinking!  
> song: uneven odds (sleeping at last)

Harley’s been staying at the tower for a few days now, and finally, Peter thinks it’s time he meets Ned and MJ. He was worried to introduce them at first, especially when he realized Harley is hilariously similar to Ned in all the worst (ie: best) ways, but per MJ’s request (ie: endless nagging), Peter decided to bring Harley to a party with him.

 

Peter’s never been much of a partier. The last party he can remember going to was the one at Liz’s house, when he said he was friends with Spider-Man. But when Harley found out Peter’d been invited to _a real high school party_ , he begged to go for hours, and Peter agreed - of course he did, he’s weak for this kid, for this brother of his - and brought Ned and MJ along for the ride.

 

Peter told Harley about the Ned thing as a prerequisite apology for the inevitable awkwardness of the party, and Harley thought it was _hilarious_. When Peter first brought it up, Harley laughed until he couldn’t breathe, and it was inarguably the most annoying thing ever. Harley insisted on being the third wheel - _why_ , Peter didn’t know -  so that he could play wingman. In fact, Peter’s almost positive that Harley wanted to go to the party even _more_ when he learned it was an opportunity to laugh at Peter.

 

Beyond just expecting a serious wave of awkwardness at the party, Peter’s also a little bit terrified of Tony. Tony often says that he, on his best day, is an angry alcoholic with PTSD, and on his worst, a monster. Peter disagrees with that _passionately_ , but the truth of the matter is that Tony _is_ angry at the world plenty of the time, he _does_ struggle with addiction, and he _does_ suffer from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Peter would never claim Tony could be boiled down to any one of those things, but he did know - _does_ know - that Tony boils _himself_ down to those things.

 

Which is why there’s no alcohol in the tower. And a therapist on call 24/7. And doctors at the ready. And why Peter goes to therapy twice a month. And why Peter isn’t allowed to drink liquor.

 

But at a high school party, what else is Peter going to drink _besides_ liquor?

 

Peter puts that problem in the back of his mind, and instead spends his time leading up to the party with Harley, mentally preparing them both for the inevitable chaos to ensue after three explosive personalities - like Harley, Ned and MJ - meet. They mostly just laze around in front of the television screen, even after Tony scolds them for being so obnoxiously loud and Pepper hounds them repeatedly to go to bed _before_ 3:00 AM. By the day of the party, Harley’s only got two days left in New York, which means he’s ultimately a million times more determined to make the party awesome for him and Peter; which _also_ means Peter needs to be a million times more careful.

 

The night begins with Harley and Peter, backpacks swung over their shoulders, calling out a goodbye to Tony. Harley stumbles behind Peter, who leads them to Peter’s car, and when Peter slides into the driver’s seat, he turns to face Harley.

 

“Remind me of the plan,” he demands. Harley fumbles with his hands.

 

“Uh,” he begins, “Tony thinks we’re going to Ned’s, MJ’s parents think we’re here, Ned’s parents think we’re at MJ’s. We’ll pass out at Betty’s house, ‘cause her mom won’t be home for another few days and she has a crush on MJ, and then we’ll stop at Denny’s on the way home to sober up.”

 

Peter grins. “A+, Mr. Keener.” Harley laughs.

 

* * *

 

Then they meet up with Ned and MJ outside of the movie theater. It’s only 7:00 PM, and they have a couple of hours to kill before the party starts, so they hang out in the arcade for a while before migrating to laser tag. Around 9:30 PM, Peter drives everyone to Betty Brandt’s house.

 

At first, Peter refuses every drink that comes his way, but honestly? After an hour or so, all of Peter’s intent to be _sober_ for Tony and _safe_ for Tony and _smart_ for Tony launches itself out the window and crashes and burns on its way down. Instead, he’s only thinking about May - her smile, her laugh, the way she used to tell Peter she’d rather he party than risk his life as Spider-Man, how mad she’d be if she knew where he was right now - and the taste of mango vodka in the back of his throat.

 

Maybe _May_ is why he’s a little weak when Harley swings by with a red solo cup and an unidentified liquid. Or maybe it’s because MJ is on the dancefloor with Ned, and he looks a little bit like an angel in the flashing pink and blue lights, even if his hair is matted and face is flushed and sweaty. Regardless, after Peter plays _designated driver_ for a while, when Ned is already a little tipsy and Harley - poor, stupid, _wasted_ Harley - has managed to convince MJ to drink and dance with him - _that’s_ when Peter’s resolve finally crumbles.

 

By 11:45 PM, Peter is - yes - drunk as hell. All the parents are still blissfully unaware of their stupid kids’ current activity, under the impression that they’re with each other at each other’s homes. It’s _almost_ a perfect plan, if it weren’t for the fact that Peter - who, despite what his GPA says about him, is kind of stupid - forgot that Tony gave him a watch, which tracks Peter’s heart rate, location, blood sugar, and - Lord knows why - his blood alcohol content.

 

And the funniest thing about Peter’s radioactive-spider induced enhancements is probably how fucked up his metabolism is now. His stupid body didn’t _feel_ drunk, so Peter drank more and more and more, until he finally figured out that it just takes _longer_ for him to be drunk; meaning, when Peter drinks twice as much as his friends and get twice as drunk in twice the time, Peter wasn’t exactly _coherent_ , per se, nor was he _prepared._

 

By midnight, Tony’s calling and calling and calling, and Peter’s ignoring it for the sake of dancing. In fact, he thinks dancing is the funnest thing in the world, especially dancing with _Ned_ , who _dances_ like an angel now, too. Ned’s hands are running up and down Peter’s body, tracing the outlines of his muscles through the thin shirt, and Peter’s arms are around his neck, one hand holding his drink, the other grasping onto his wrist. The world all around him is fuzzy and warm, and Peter can’t focus on anything besides the thumping bass and the way the shadows fall on Ned’s face to outline his cheekbones and the quiet, thick buzz in the back of his own throat.

 

At 12:30 AM, Peter’s phone rings again, and Ned’s voice is husky as he whispers, “You should get that.” Peter doesn’t say it out loud, but distantly, he thinks he’d do anything Ned asked him to.

 

Peter pulls his phone out of his pocket, clears his throat and answers. “Hello?” He tries to sound sober and cohesive, but the word slurs anyway.

 

“Peter Benjamin Parker.” Tony sounds _beyond_ mad; in fact, he sounds _furious_. He sounds _worried._  He sounds - worst of all - _disappointed_. “I know for a fucking _fact_ that you are not at Ned’s house, because there is no way in hell you could get _that_ drunk around Ned’s mom, and she would never leave you home alone this late at night. I have your _location_ , Peter, so either tell me what’s going on, or you and I are going to be roommates at MIT next year.”

 

In this moment, Peter knows he has two options: one, he can lie and risk enduring the seething wrath of one Tony Stark, or two, he can tell the truth and possibly be either grounded for life or simply forced to look at Tony’s face pure, unadulterated, unbearable disappointment.

 

He knows, as well as anyone, that Tony had the _no drinking_ rule for a reason; Peter is more than aware of Tony’s less than satisfactory coping mechanisms, and he knows Tony simply wants for Peter to never make the same mistakes. Thus, _no drinking_. Even so, Peter - perhaps due to the haziness of his mind and the subtle vibrations twinkling up his spine - doesn’t think he’s _really_ making the same kind of decision. _Sure_ , he’s drinking because he’s not sure how to be sober when he’s at his first real high school party and May isn’t around to see it, and _yes_ he’s perfectly happy to get wasted if it means pretending May could pick him up later tonight, and he is _definitely_ okay with how the blurriness of the dancefloor blends with the sharp curves of Ned’s face, but he -

 

Okay, he realizes. Maybe he is making the same kind of decision.

 

Maybe that’s why he responds how he does. Maybe it’s just because he hates lying to Tony. Or maybe it’s all because he’s got this weird, bitter _guilt_ flooding his veins, making him think about all the things he couldn’t save May from, all the things he’s sorry for doing to Ned, all the things he wish he never said and all the things he wish he _had;_ maybe it’s all of the above.

 

“I’m at a party,” Peter admits. “And I’m really drunk and you - maybe you should pick us up.”

 

The silence on the phone only lasts for a few seconds, but it’s long enough to make Peter’s heart creep up to his throat and almost pour out of his body, as something pierces his lungs and for a moment, he forgets how to breathe. The world fogs over all around him, the flashing lights feel brighter and Peter’s head throbs, and even as Ned reaches out to him, all kind and unafraid and eyes bright like he’s suddenly sober, Peter thinks he’s going insane.

 

“I’ll be there soon.” Tony’s voice is clipped and strained, and he hangs up before Peter has the time to say _okay_. He takes the opportunity to drag Harley out to sit on the lawn. Ned and MJ follow.

 

* * *

 

When Tony gets there, Peter is struck with the beautiful and horrifyingly frustrating reminder that Tony is such a _good dad._  The four of them are sitting together, Peter curled into Ned’s chest on the porch with their legs hanging off the side, and MJ and Harley throwing grass at each other just below. Their semi-peaceful, semi-anxious giggling is interrupted by Tony, who walks up to them and says that he called Ned and MJ’s moms on his way over, and now they’re driving to retrieve their kids. MJ, who sat up when Tony arrived, whines and flops back onto the ground, but huffs a laugh when Harley plops a handful of wet grass on her face.

 

Tony broods in silence - arms crossed tight over his chest and brow furrowed - until Ned’s mom arrives. She walks up to Tony and they talk quietly before she wraps him in a warm hug. Peter’s heart squeezes with affection and sadness when Tony pulls away with red eyes. _I fucked up so bad_ , he thinks.

 

Ned’s mom pulls him away by the ear, but he blinks away the pinch to look at Peter over his shoulder and smile. Peter thinks he’s a little bit in love.

 

MJ’s mom isn’t angry like Tony and Ned’s mom are, but her face is pinched with annoyance. She thanks Tony profusely, and even though Peter misses May more than anything else in the world, he can’t help but think about how well Tony’s taken on fatherhood. Even if he totally betrayed Peter, he knows that Tony did what had to be done. MJ’s mom drops a kiss on Peter’s temple as she lifts MJ to her feet, and she’s a little softer than Ned’s mom had been earlier. MJ says something slurred and silly to Harley on her way out, and although it’s too quiet for Peter to hear, he laughs when MJ gets a half-assed smack to the back of her head.

 

Then, it’s just Peter, Harley, and Scary Dad Tony Stark. All Tony says is, “We’ll come back for your car tomorrow.” He nods for them to follow as he silently stalks off to the car, and Peter has to drag Harley behind him. Harley crawls into the backseat, and Peter moves to the front, and Tony turns some talk radio channel on to fill the quiet.

 

After a while, Peter looks over his shoulder to see Harley curled up against the window. With Harley uninvolved in the conversation, Peter whispers, “Tony, ‘m sorry.”

 

Tony sighs. “I know, Peter.”

 

 _Peter_ . Tony doesn’t call him _Peter_ a lot. He says Pete or buddy or kid or honey or Spider-Baby or literally _anything_ else. Except when things are serious; when he’s mad or scared or disappointed. If Peter wasn’t so drunk, he would’ve started blubbering like a baby and begging for forgiveness, but he’s hopped up on mango vodka and the other random shit Harley handed him, so instead, he snaps.

 

“Wha’ever,” Peter huffs. “I ‘on’t know why you’re so pissed. Y-you drank all the time when you were my age.”

 

“That’s kinda _why_ I’m pissed, Peter. I just don’t understand-” Tony chokes with a sigh that sounds broken like a gasp, and his hand flies up to rub at the creases in his forehead. “Why would you do this? Why would you get drunk on a _fucking_ Tuesday night even after - don’t you know what drinking has done to me?”

 

Peter groans and rolls over in his chair to look out the window. “Have you _ever_ , just once, thought about how _I’m not you_?”

 

Tony turns and narrows his eyes at Peter, who shrinks under his glare. “ _God_ , Peter, _yes_. I have. You are - I want you to be _better_ than me. You _are_ better than me.”

 

“Don’t be like that.” Peter puts his head on the glass and lifts his chin, looking over at Tony. “You said that when you took the suit. You want me to be better. But I’m not. And - and you don’t even need to be here, okay? You don’t have to pretend to care anymore. I’ll be 18 soon and then I’ll be out of your hair. Until then, I can take care of myself.”

 

Tony sighs and shakes his head. “You’re saying things you don’t mean,” Tony says, all clinical like he’s a doctor diagnosing Peter with something terminal. “I know that because _I_ did that. A lot. You got angry or sad or whatever so you got drunk, and now you’re taking it out on me.”

 

Peter knows he’s right, but he’s pissed off anyway. Still, he bites his tongue and nods. _I’m sorry_ , he thinks, but the words don’t come out. Distantly, he wonders if Tony knows anyway.

 

After a while, Tony asks again, “Really, Pete, why’d you do it?”

 

Peter pulls his knees up to his chest and buries his face between his legs. He plants his chin on his upper thigh and watches Tony as he drives; how he focuses on the road, the way his eyes dart around the horizon. Quietly, he answers, “A lot of reasons. They’re all dumb.”

 

“Tell me anyway,” Tony responds.

 

Peter uncurls himself and reaches his hand out, palm up. Tony glances at it once, then looks back and hesitantly intertwines their fingers. “May used to tell me she’d rather I get wasted at a high school party than ever go out as Spider-Man again. Sometimes I - I guess I thought maybe - I wanted to pretend she’d come pick me up. You know?”

 

Tony tells him softly, “I know.”

 

“And it’s hard for me to flirt with Ned when I’m sober,” Peter adds.

 

Tony snorts and rolls his eyes. “He’s been your best friend since you were like, 9, and you flirt all the time. You just don’t know it.”

 

Peter reaches over with his right hand and pokes Tony in the side. “Shh,” he slurs.

  
“Go to sleep, honey.” Tony pulls his hand away to pat Peter’s cheek. Peter leans his crossed arms on the center console and rests his head in the crook of his elbow. Tony gently turns the radio up a little, and Peter hums when Tony places his hand in Peter’s curls. In the back of Tony’s mind, he thinks about all the things he’s sorry for; all the hurt he wishes he could take away from Peter.

 

After a while, Peter can’t pretend to be asleep any longer. “I know you’re mad,” he whispers suddenly. “Just get it out now, please. I’ll cry tomorrow if you yell at me. But I’m good right now.”

 

Tony chuckles a little bitterly. “I’m not going to yell,” he says. “I promise. But, yeah, buddy, I’m pretty mad.”

 

“You always say you don’t want me to turn out like you,” Peter sighs. “But I want to turn out like you. You’re - you’re _you_.”

 

“Pete, you’re _so_ drunk right now. You aren’t making sense.”

 

Peter whines and squirms in his seat, readjusting so his chin his propped up on his forearm. “I always looked up to you when I was a kid. I still do. I just - you’re my - and I - ugh.” Peter flops his face back into his arm. He starts again, “T-Tony?” Peter shuffles and, with half lidded eyes, looks back up expectantly at Tony. Tony sighs and tries to push down the affection bubbling up in his chest.

 

“Yes, baby?” He asks. Peter huffs a little, like he’s trying not to cry, and curls in on himself. “Hey, Pete,” Tony reaches a hand to brush through the matted curls on Peter’s forehead. “You can say it, whatever it is.”

 

“Would-” Peter cut himself off to clear his throat- “you ‘n’ May be, um, friends? If she were alive?” Tony blinks in surprise at him, but Peter continues obliviously. “I just, well, like - when May was alive, in the - the last, um - she was, uh, warming up to you.” He takes a heavy breath. “I just wish you’d ‘a been friends. My aunt and my - my - you know.”

 

 _I **don’t** know_, Tony thinks, _except, maybe I do._

 

And, well, if there’s ever a better time to tell Peter, Tony wouldn’t wait around for it. This feels _right_. “We _were_ friends,” Tony admits, and even in his drunken state, Peter whirls around to look at him with wide eyes. “We got brunch sometimes to talk trash about you. She - she was close with Pepper. Pepper wanted May to be one of the bridesmaids.”

 

“I didn’t know that,” Peter sighs and stretches out comfortably in the passenger seat. He steals a glance at Harley, who’s sleeping peacefully across the back row. “Did you - why’d you postpone the wedding? ‘Cause I know you ‘n’ Pep a-are fine. Right?”

 

Tony hums. “Yeah, we’re good, Pete.” He pulls his hand out of Peter’s hair to place it on the wheel. “We postponed for you.” When Peter stares at him in confusion, Tony continues. “The closest thing to a mother you ever had just died, and now you’re going to a wedding for your - your _you know?_ That’s overwhelming at _best_. I didn’t want to risk it.”

 

“I want you two to get married,” Peter whines. “I don’t want you to be unhappy ‘cause ‘a me!”

 

“I’m the happiest I’ve been in a long ass time, Pete,” Tony says with a fire in his eyes. “I’ve got my two best friends around, the love of my life, and my son. I don’t need a wedding to make it official with Pepper. She knows.”

 

“Well, ‘kay, but-”

 

“But _nothing_ , baby. I promise.” Tony turns to him and stares him down - like he isn’t driving and might totally crash, like he isn’t still pissed and it’s currently 1:07 AM and Peter’s drunk out of his mind, like he isn’t disappointed and terrified and broken and sad - with so much love, Peter might explode. “I’m so damn happy,” he whispers. Peter pauses for a moment.

 

“Okay,” he responds, and lays his head on Tony’s chest. “I love you, Dad,” he mumbles, more asleep than awake and already far away inside of his dreamland. Tony thinks the pitter-pattering of his chest might cause his heart to finally shatter.

 

“I love you too, son.”

 

Peter’s so, _so_ guilty, and he can feel his heart shattering into a million pieces while being glued back together at the same time and his body is in cahoots with itself and his world feels like it’s spinning backwards on its axis, but then Tony whispers once more to a mostly-sleeping Peter, _“I love you,”_ and he thinks it’s going to be okay.

 

He doesn’t have May anymore. He doesn’t have Uncle Ben. He doesn’t have Mary or Richard. But he’s got other people, new people. They aren’t replacing anyone; Tony isn’t the second Uncle Ben, just like Uncle Ben wasn’t the second Richard, and Pepper isn’t May or Mary either. Peter’s never had a brother before either, not until Harley came bouncing into his life, and he hasn’t had a mom or dad since he was too young to remember, but here, with his _dad_ and his _brother_ , he thinks, just a little bit, that the world will keep on spinning.

 

Peter can remember when he first went back to church after May died. He goes every Sunday now, _again_ , but he remembers how awful everything felt during his first mass back; how the world tasted like lemons in the back of his throat; how Peter wanted the ocean to swallow him whole.

 

But if the ocean swallows him whole, he decides, or if he floats away, lost in space forever, or if he free falls until his skin is melted from his bones, someone will catch him and carry him home.

 

The world tastes like a million things. Dirt, gunpowder, gasoline, berries and chocolate, Swedish Fish, mango vodka, fresh air as the wind nips at his throat atop of some bridge he doesn’t know the name of, protein shakes, coffee; but it doesn’t taste like lemons. Not anymore, because Peter doesn’t feel so empty anymore, or lost or alone or afraid.

 

He used to worry that no one would save him, but now, he knows - now that he's grown and learned and _survived_ \- that  if the oceans swallows him whole, there _will_ be someone around to fish him out of the sea and carry him home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have no excuse. this is not great and it's not my proudest work. i had so many plans for this story and the first like 4 chapters i was really proud of but the last 2 i feel like i've disappointed myself and you all. regardless, if you've stuck around, thank you. i'm really sorry for the wait. things have been rough and this story is a very personal one for me so it was hard to get back into the swing of things but i hope this conclusion brings like. an ounce of satisfaction to you all? <3 thank you for reading!!!
> 
> talk to me! shazameroos.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> tank u 4 reading pls validate me via comments or tumblr send me asks pleasE fic requests or anything something PELASE
> 
> >>peterporkerrr.tumblr.com
> 
> edit april 22nd 2019: i edited the entire fic so that i only have tony call him "peter" in more serious moments and "pete"/other various nicknames the rest of the time. i also added um one sentence in chapter 3. literally u dont need 2 read it again just wanted u all 2 know <3
> 
> edit may 3rd 2019: hi again!!! if you’re still here waiting for the final chapter...i apologize for sucking. BUT the update will come very very soon. i wrote basically the whole chapter but now i just have to edit it! sorry to u all for the wait :(


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